


A Knight's Tale

by forloveandlemons



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Not Canon Compliant, Romance, Sexual Content, Some AU going on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-24 03:23:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 93,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4903666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forloveandlemons/pseuds/forloveandlemons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To the world, she is just another elf of the Dales. But in her world, Eleanor Lavellan is the princess ruling it. Under the protection of her clan, she knew no evil, she saw no evil. But when she falls into a giant green hole, things start to change. Eleanor finds herself with an unwanted title and a duty to fulfill. She would have made a run for it, if not for a certain templar from her past.</p><p>To say that Commander Cullen did not like the Herald of Andraste is stretching it. She is spoilt, foolish, and does not have an ounce of responsibility in her bones. But could their Herald be the answer to defeating the demons of his past? He can’t help but wonder if she is more than she seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> *Deep breaths* Here goes...

The Inquisitor stood bent across her balcony, gazing far away into the depths of The Frostback Mountains spanning beyond Skyhold. She sighed warily; knowing well enough that the commander should be back from his business in Denerim by now.

She shut her eyes tight, and even though there was no one around, she mumbled a little prayer in hushed tones for his safe return. Her behaviour had been that of a child when he had refused her company and there were only sour goodbyes the day he embarked on his journey.

 “I will be in the safe company of my troops.”

 She had scoffed, “Sure, but do you think any one of them will actually say no to you? All you need to do is frown and they are all scared shitless!”

 “Inquisitor, let’s not be…”

 “Are we really doing that whole ‘Inquisitor’ thing again?” she rolled her eyes. “You are always so… so, formal.”

 The commander walked cautiously towards her with a sigh, “Eleanor, I assure you I will be alright. Stop worrying. There are other pressing matters which needs your attention besides my well-being”.

 Gently, he stroked a stray hair from her cheek, “I will be counting the days until I see you again.”

 “You will not be counting anything because I WILL be going with you!” she swatted his hand away, crossing her arms insistently. “As you so love to remind me, I am the Inquisitor now, so I don’t see why I can’t tag along with your merry band of holy knights.”

 “And as Inquisitor, you have a duty to your people,” his tone had turned harsh. “You will not put your duty aside for your feelings. Honestly, stop being so selfish.”

 “Selfish? This is’nt about me!” _When had she heard that before?_

“It is not about me either. It is for the Inquisition. There are much bigger things than us right now.”

“And when you die?”

“I am not going to die, Eleanor.”

“Addiction leads to a slow death.”

“I am not an addict.”

“I’m sure both Mia and I will not crack a tear. In fact, we’ll probably have a good laugh about it over tea, and maybe some scones.”

“Now is not the time for sarcasm.”

“You might not have lyrium on you, but the other templars do.”

“You talk as if it is red lyrium.” He tried once more, “Look, I made you a promise. Just trust me on this. The War Council needs you in Skyhold to sit in the meetings before The Winter Palace while I am away.”

She knew there was no use arguing with him anymore. Cullen will always be Cullen.

“Fine, be that way then. Just know that if you do die, don’t be thinking I told you so.” She threw the door of his tower open and stormed out with a loud bang.  

He had left Skyhold the next morning.

How long had she known Knight-Commander Cullen? Properly, only since the day she fell unknowingly into the Inquisition. But, the very day she had laid eyes on him was long before there were any glowing green holes in the sky. Compared to the person she is now, the thin, naive girl whom she once knew was but a child; if not in age, then certainly in mind. Nora remembered that day oh, so well.

Everyone knew how Knight Commander Meredith went mad, which was why she thought she would never see the templar who saved her life after that day. She had acquired permission from Keeper Lavellan to visit a sick relative in Kirkwall’s alienage with some elven remedies and was having a pint at The Hanged Man before she made her way back to her clan.

“Dareth shiral, da’len. Do not speak to anyone else,” Keeper Lavellan had warned her. “If word were to reach unwanted ears that you are a mage, you might land into some serious trouble. And, please Eleanor, there is no need for your staff in Kirkwall.”

On the promises she had made to the Keeper, Nora had brought no weapons with her, save a few sovereigns for food and emergencies. She had placed herself in a secluded corner of the tavern with her hood up, away from the attention of the other inhabitants. The place was occupied primarily by humans, some in large groups bantering drunkenly over menial subjects, and some in twos and threes deep in secretive conversations. There were also a couple of dwarves, most likely merchants who were staying in the rooms upstairs. But, no elves. The alienage doors were already shut by now and if she was not careful, a city guard might all too easily mistake her for a resident of Kirkwall’s elven population.

The doors of the tavern flung open and a group of three armoured men entered, drenched from head to toe. Eleanor quickly looked down at her stew, clutching her pint tightly in her hands. _Someone must have notified the city guards, and they’ve come to throw her back into the alienage. Should she make a run for it?_ Keeper Lavellan was waiting for her back at the clan and they were to move camp further from Kirkwall the next day, north of the Free Marches. _If the city guards were to detain her, who knows how long they might hold her for_. The rain was still heavy outside, but she could not risk getting caught, she had to leave.

Just as she pushed out her wooden stool to make a dash for the door, she noticed the guards had made their way closer to her, but they were not making a bee-line for her. Instead, they took their seats two tables away and their attention was anywhere but on her. They ordered their drinks and dived right into conversation with one another. She spotted something different about their uniforms. They weren’t like all the other guards’ uniforms. There was a special emblem on the trio’s armours, a flaming sword. _They were templars._

Sighing in relief, Nora let herself relax once more and continued with her stew and draught. Her staff was not with her, so she need not worry about the templars seizing her under the charges of being an apostate, so long as she did not brand herself as magical in front of them. Still, she watched them silently from her corner with intrigue. She had never chanced upon templars before. Keeper Lavellan had told her stories about them and the mages at the Circle of Magi during her younger years, and Nora had grew up thinking to fear the templars, seeing as she herself wields a staff.

They were too far away and talking in too low of voices for Nora to listen in on their conversations, but she had noticed that one of the templars was significantly different from the other two. He had an air of authority from the way he positioned himself in his seat, while the other two were hanging on to his every word, lapping them up like thirsty dogs. He was obviously of higher rank compared to his comrades. Nora had never thought of any male human as attractive, but she found herself scanning his blond hair and chiseled face. His eyes were deep set and his lips, set in a grim line. He seemed to Nora a serious man, someone who probably had not laughed at a good joke in years.

His eyes flickered over her direction. She felt a jolt of panic and quickly shifted her gaze down on the table. Nora stayed that way for a couple of minutes before finally mustering the courage to peek her head up once more, finding that he had turned his focus back to his companions. Time for her to leave. She took a last swig of draught and proceeded out of The Hanged Man, away from the excitement of finally meeting real templars. _Well, examining more like._

The rain had ceased, but Lowtown still stunk of sewer and dirt, as if the rain had not washed away anything at all, let alone the stench. There were muddy sludges from footprints all over the ground, hers soon to be another addition to Lowtown’s poorly maintained streets. It was getting late, and Nora had to return to her clan before she received a lecture for Keeper Lavellan.

“What’s a disgusting creature like yer doin’ out so late, I wonder?”

Nora turned around to be greeted by a menacing, pock-faced grin.

“Yer should be in the alienage with all yer filthy kind,” the bandit growled, a smile creeping onto his face. “A young one! I wonder how much yer be worth. A little more than the other filths, I s’pose.”

_Blight!_

The bandit grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him. “Now, be a good little filthy elf and come with me, or I’ll have to get rough.”

“Get away from me!” Nora tugged back, in alarm. “I mean it, or else!”

“Or else what? What’s a little elf like you going to do?” he gave a vicious laugh and slapped her hard. “Stupid creature.”

Her face met the cold, muddy floor. He struck her again and kicked the side of her stomach, taking pleasure as he listened to her cries of pain. Nora had to do something, she had no choice. She had no other arms on her, she had to use her magic. Lifting a shaky hand, she was about to knock him back with a chain lighting spell when she heard another cry. Then, there was a loud thud.

She looked up and saw that the bandit had fallen to the floor beside her. He was knocked out cold. Either that, or he was dead, both of which she was grateful for. A figure stood above her and she recognized the familiar flaming sword staring down at her.

“You should not be wandering around alone at this time,” the blonde templar from the Hanged Man bent low, offering her his hand. “Are you alright, miss?”

Still a little stunned by the whole situation, Nora let him help her up, “Err, I’m fine.”

“Are you from the alienage?” his face was closer than ever now and she could see his features all the more clearly.

Stubble dotted his chin, and his eyes were a hazel brown. A scar ran across his bottom right cheek all the way down his upper lip. His hair was not really blonde, more sandy she thought.

He raised his brow, quizzically.

_Oh right, she was staring._

Nora cleared her throat, but found no voice. She stood awkwardly for a few moments, cheeks still stinging and ridden with dirt, horrified with the way she was gazing in awe at the templar standing before her. She gave up, and only shook her head in reply.

The templar spoke again, “From the Dalish clan not far from Kirkwall then, I presume?”. Upon hearing no reply, he then continued, “You had best be on your way before any more trouble should impose on you.”

For the life of her, Nora could not understand her inability to utter a word. All her senses should be telling her to back away and leave the templar immediately. She knew she should be frightened of the flaming sword. Yet, her feet found immobility quite pleasant. The only thing in her mind at that point was how much of a fool she must seem to him by now.

“Well then, I shall take my leave,” the now slightly confused templar proceeded to turn away.

“W-wait,” she had finally regained herself, though still meek in voice. “I- haven’t thanked you… yet.”

_Real smooth, Nora. A real charmer, you are. “I want to devour you for breakfast” would have served as a far better answer than that. At least you would have gotten his attention._

_Wait, wait. Hold up here. What?! Did you just think of devouring him?_

“What I meant to say was,” she sighed. “... Thank You.”

_You are pathetic, Nora._

“Safe journey.” he replied before striding off, leaving her alone once more.

Nora was recounting the absurd incident as she strolled out of Kirkwall’s gates. The young templar with sandy hair had obviously made an impression on her. One she was not about to forget anytime soon, whether she liked it or not. _So, this was what a templar looked like. Shouldn’t they be holed up in their templar headquarters, doing other templar-y things like tranquiling mages or downing lyrium? Odd to see that templars actually live like normal humans outside of their duties to the Order._

Lyrium. Nora knew that mages often took it to boost their mana and that it ties them closer to The Fade. Though she had never took lyrium before, The Circle of Magi uses it for Harrowings. Keeper Lavellan had told her that templars relied on the stuff so that they have special powers. These powers also granted them the ability to sense mages around them. Realization struck her.

_Oh, Maker. He knows._

Yes, Nora remembered that day all too clearly. It was a very gloomy day and everything was wet from the rain in Kirkwall, and outside a tavern in Lowtown, she had unknowingly fallen in love with a templar.

 


	2. The Ghost

Why was it that in both instances she crossed path with a templar, she was in some way or another being held captive? This, to Nora, seemed even more ridiculous that the appearance of a green mark glowing feverishly on her palm.

“This is Eleanor Lavellan, everyone,” the woman known as Cassandra had introduced her as soon as they entered the room.

Instantly, Nora froze to a halt. She blinked in disbelief, like she was trying to shake away visions of a mirage. There he was, standing across the table from her, after all this time. He looked the same despite the years that went by, yet different. His confident stance she remembered from long ago now seemed as if someone had dumped the weight of the world on his shoulders. Her thoughts fleeted back to memories of the brave templar who had rescued her that night in Lowtown. Of how he knew she was a mage, yet chose not to convict her. From that day on, Nora’s views on templars had changed. No more did she think of them as the terrible beings Keeper Lavellan painted them to be.

She must have had her mouth open, gaping wide, because she certainly did not expect him to raise an eyebrow and go, “Is something of the matter?”

His eyes were fixed on her, not with recognition, no. He was judging her.

_Of course, he doesn’t remember._

“Have the both of you met before?” another woman spoke, as if she had read through Nora.

Jolting back to the present, she shook her head all too quickly, “No, no! I was just er…. nevermind.”

It seemed she was too busy being in shock to notice the other occupants of the room. They were now drowned in an awkward silence, confusion blatantly written on their faces. Nora hastily shifted her attention around the tiny room, furnished only with a beaten up wood table in the center, registering two other humans. The dwarf she had met earlier had not followed them in, and had made a comment about staying out of ‘war council dramas’ before exiting the Haven Chantry. Solas the elf, too, was not present.

“Josephine Montilyet,” a beautiful raven-haired lady introduced herself, her voice pleasant, finally breaking the silence. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Lady Josephine is our ambassador and chief diplomat. She is in charge of communications and relations with the noble house across Thedas,” Cassandra explained. “And, this is Sister Leliana.”

The woman who spoke before nodded politely at Nora, “My position here involves a degree of…”

“She is our spy master.”

“Yes, so tactfully put, Cassandra.”

“And may I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces,” Cassandra continued, finally introducing Nora’s mystery templar.

It took much courage from Nora’s weakened heart to land her eyes back on him. She did not understand the effect he had on her, not just yet. For years, she had wondered what his name was, but for the life of her, she never thought she’d actually come to know it. To Nora, all she was to the world was a Dalish elf, living out her simple life in the confines of her clan. It was hard-pressed to imagine that she would one day find herself waking up from a state of unconsciousness with the gift -or curse -of a green mark stuck to her palm. _And commander was it? Commander Cullen._ There was finally a name to the face.

“Such as they are,” he spoke, in all formal manners. “We lost many good soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through.”

Realizing she actually had to form proper sentences now, Nora gave a small nod, making sure to address everyone and not only the commander, “A pleasure. Please, do explain what I am doing here. You won’t be needing me to close any more giant holes, right?”

“As a matter of fact, we do,” Cassandra asserted. “That mark on your hand needs more power to close the breach for good, but there’s no knowing what danger lies ahead. We are not safe yet, and neither are you.”

I assure you, I will be perfectly fine when I’m back with my clan. Keeper Lavellan will take ca--,”

“That mark appeared on your hand for a reason,” the commander cut her short. “Why it chose you may be pure coincidence, but it is not safe to simply ignore it. Your Keeper will not be able to protect you from the mark’s true purpose, whatever it may be. The breach in the sky threatens us all, and you need to close it. After that, assuming we are victorious and you wish to return to your clan, Solas will try to find a way to remove it from you.”

“Assuming?” Nora gasped. “I am not dying because of some hole in the sky!”

“This is no time to be selfish,” the commander replied, irritably. “Your refusal to cooperate will put all of Thedas in significant danger, and the world as you know it will disintegrate before your very eyes the next day. Your clan as you know it to be will not survive the threat looming over us. Now, I suggest you correct your hasty decision. Would you want to give your life to save Thedas, or would you rather watch everyone die around you?”

_Ouch._ Nora watched her templar’s, ex-templar’s, expression grow from irritation to anger the more he spoke. She did not remember him to be this frighteningly harsh.

“Commander, let us not frighten the poor girl,” Leliana placed a hand firmly on his shoulder, stopping his tirade. She turned to Nora with apology, “What Commander Cullen is trying to say is that we need you. Only you have the power to stop this breach and save us all. I know you are confused and scared, but so are we. Please, do reconsider. If you need some time to think, we can reconvene back here later.”

“There is no time to--,” the Commander objected, but paused upon sensing from the dead silence around the room that he had been overruled. “Fine, we shall meet back here in an hour.”

He strided out of the room without a glance at Nora. By Andraste’s sword, had she pissed him off. _What happened to that gallant templar she had met on the streets of Kirkwall?_ Nora realized she had spent all this time fantasizing about her mystery templar and constructing his person in her mind that she had forgotten he might actually not turn out the exact portrait she pictured him to be. _Maybe he lost it all after becoming a commander._

Cassandra threw her hands in an exasperated sigh, “Meeting adjourned, everyone.”

 

* * *

 

The grounds outside of Haven’s Chantry were blanketed with snow, brown from dirt. Nora sat on a crate outside the apothecary and proceeded to apply a salve she had procured to her surface wounds. The mark was still emitting a strong glow. She knew it was not going anywhere until it had fulfilled its purpose. Her peaceful Dalish life as she knew it had come to an end. Something told her things were never going to be the same again.

_But was this her destiny? Did it choose her for a reason?_ Her head hurt to think of endless possible explanations. It was easier to dismiss this as just a coincidence. Sheer bad luck. She never pinned herself to be the sort of hero who gave her life for the greater good. All she wanted to do was go home, ride her Halla, and make hair garlands out of flowers. She wanted to practice her magic in the safe confines of her clan, and hear the soothing voice of Keeper Lavellan again. Nora wanted a simple, boring life. The only excitement she ever wanted was to eventually bond with a nice, handsome elf.

“I hardly think giving that green mark the stare down would do you any good,” a voice interrupted her thoughts.

Nora peered up and saw the dwarf she had met earlier. Varric was his name.

He leaned against the wall beside her, “But what do I know, right? I’m not the one stuck with that ugly thing.”

“It would look better in pink,” Nora replied, pulling a grave look.

“Alas, someone with a sense of humour! We need more of it around here, considering that the war council is this close to scaring Andraste’s knickers off with the kind of faces they are giving everyone nowadays.”

“Do they ever smile?”

“Not since that thing appeared in the sky,” Varric shrugged. “Cassandra is looking more and more like a high dragon with a rash each passing day. And Ruffles would throw a fit if she ever ran out of ink while writing to Teyrn number twenty five.”

Nora giggled, “Leliana seems pretty calm to me.”

“That’s because she probably knows what the darkspawns had for breakfast this morning. She’s probably had Solas install magic pockets in her brain to store all those secrets spewing out of her brain.”

“And the commander?”

“Cullen?” Varric snorted. “Don’t get me started. He’s a hard one alright, but I’m worried that thick boa around his neck might be the cause of his face turning red all the time.”

Nora burst out laughing. After all the events that had happened, it felt good to let loose, even if it was for just a moment. “Yes, he should look into it.”

“I will be sure to keep that in mind,” came a sharp voice.

Their laughter quickly faded. Both Varric and Nora turned to find their subject with his arms crossed, head cocked to one side with a grim line displayed across his lips. “It never dawned on me you had an interest in the fashion of others, Varric.”

“Commander Cullen--,” Nora stood straight up, her face turning its own shade of red. “We were just…”

“I see that the break from our initial meeting is lifting your spirits well,” his tone was sharp enough to slice through the cold Haven wind.

“All in good fun, Cullen. And on that note, I will take my leave,” Varric casted Nora an apologetic wink and scuttled away, still chuckling to himself.

This was the first time Nora stood alone with the commander since Kirkwall. She felt a chilly sensation creeping down her spine as his cryptic gaze set itself upon her, and suddenly had a creeping _deja vu_ when her tongue started to tangle. He frightened her, but not in a monstrous way. It was what she let herself turn into every time he so much as looked at her; a pile of sludge. That scared her.

“I know you do not like me,” he started.

_I don’t not like you._ She opened her mouth to say something.

Not bothering to wait for a reply, the commander pressed on, “Trust me, I do not wish to be in the same place with you either,”

_Wait, what?_

“But believe me when I say this; we are all in danger,” he continued. “I apologize if I was being too harsh on you earlier on, Lady Lavellan. However, I wouldn’t have said all those things if it were not true.”

“Good to know,” she muttered to herself a little too loudly.

“We are all here to do our duties,” he said. “Good men died today because of the breach. I will not stand to see the lives they have sacrificed go to waste.”

_Was it because of what she said at the meeting?_

“The mark chose you. If it had chosen anyone else, I would have said the same thing too. The Inquistion was not formed to benefit our own ideals. We have not put in all this time an effort to accomplish personal quests. It was formed to make a difference…”

_What was she supposed to have said? Some heroic phrase like “It is an honour to give my life for Thedas.” Was that what he wanted her to say? Or did he expect something more sassy like “Let’s kick rift butt!”_

“... it will only get worse. Our followers need something to hold onto, something to believe in. And that person is you whether you like it or not. It is not an easy task to…”

“Why don’t you like me?” her unintended blurt came all of a sudden, and she was just as shocked as he was.

Commander Cullen’s speech faltered. His eyes widened, and he seemed at once uncomfortable, like his heavy, fur mantle had indeed come alive and started to choke him. It seemed this definitely was not the reaction he had anticipated. Contempt, yes. Certainly not this.

“Forgive me, Lady Lavellan,” he regained his dutiful posture. “I had only sought to talk to you before we resume the meeting because we might have gotten off at the wrong foot. I had also hoped I might be able to convince you into believing in our cause. I offer you my sincere apologies if I had in one way or another offended you again. It was not my intention to do so. I was merely trying to explain the urgency of our dire situation.”

“It’s Eleanor. Nora for short.” Lady Lavellan was what the merchants called her aunt whenever she conducted tradings.

The commander tugged at his mantle, “Right.”

His discomposure strangely made Nora ease up. She was suddenly reminded that he was, after all, a real person and no more just a figment of her imagination. Sure, he did not turn out the way she’d pictured him to be all these years, but her adolescent behavior was not a flattering trait of hers either. It was then that she decided for once, she would heed Keeper Lavellan’s advice and reconsider the reasons of others. She would do it to repay the debt she owed the templar all those years ago.

Nora sighed in defeat, “Fine, I’ll close the stupid green hole.”

 


	3. Lore

With the breach finally closed, Haven rejoiced in a night filled with song and dance outside the Chantry. Bards were exercising their musical chords, and the soft gleam from strung up fairy lights bathed the dirt path in a dreamy warmth. Commander Cullen had positioned himself on the steps of the Chantry, surveying the crowd before him. He had given his soldiers leave to enjoy the night, and most of them were camped out in the tavern, chugging down as much ale as their bellies could tank. Some of them had banded together with the villagers to form a dance floor below the steps.

The mages who had assisted the Inquisition in closing the breach showed no signs of hostility this night, and some had even joined in with the dancing crowd. Still, Cullen felt uneasy at the sight of so many mages gathered in one place that was not the Circle. Having Fiona’s consent to join the Inquisition meant that the mages would pose no threat, however Cullen could not discount the fact that she had only agreed to join because King Alistair had proclaimed his intentions to banish her from Ferelden after the trouble Alexius had caused.

A squeal of delight filled the frosty air, and from the corner of his eye, Eleanor Lavellan was clapping her hands and skipping about merrily, her arms interlocked with cranky Adan from the apothecary, though on this night, his sulk had disappeared. Cullen found himself watching her. He had never seen her this relaxed since she first arrived. He had to admit that for someone so frivolous and naive to the world around her, she had done a good job in convincing the mages to come under the Inquisition’s care. Even the Tervinter mage, Dorian, had praised her for her bravery while in the rift.  Maybe she was not so much the foolish child he had pegged her to be.

Another squeal erupted, also from Eleanor. She had let go of Adan and was peering down at her robes in dismay. A drunken soldier had apparently knocked into her, spilling his drink down her front. Cullen continued watching as she pouted her lips in a huff and ran from the dance floor. He immediately took back his initial thought. She was exactly what she seemed.

 _What in heaven was Andraste thinking when she chose this girl as our Herald?!_ He sighed, pressing his fingers to his temple. _Only Maker knows why._

Despite it all, Cullen found her youthful demeanor oddly refreshing. She was not the type he frequently came across in his line of work. Templars were taught discipline by the Chantry, and so were the mages at the Circle. Something Eleanor Lavellan seemed to lack severely. She was too carefree, and had obviously lived a sheltered life without the knowledge of suffering. Whereas, he had seen all too well what evil can do. He knew what evil could make him do.

“I relieve you of your duty, Commander,” Varric interrupted his musing, sitting himself next to where Cullen stood. “A pint would do you wonders.”

“Someone has to keep watch while the rest enjoy,” he replied, curtly.

“Has anyone ever told you that you need to lighten up?” Varric had placed his crossbow on his lap and with a cloth in one hand, proceeded to polish his prized weapon. “I can assure you that the Inquisition will not collapse if their commander chose to let loose for a couple of hours.”

Cullen conceded and bent down next to the dwarf. “Five minutes."

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” declared Varric, triumphantly.

“Do I get a medal?”

“I’m sure Harrit could carve something out for you.”

Cullen cracked a grin, “I have to admit, sitting down feels pretty good."

“You should consider investing in some chairs for the war council room.”

“Duly noted. The chairs could also serve as a hanger for my mantle.”

Varric threw his head back with a laugh, “This did not come from me, but a certain Herald told me your ‘furry thingamajig looks absolutely... ridiculous’. Her words, not mine. Oh, there she is now. Fancy someone like her to be Andraste’s Chosen One, eh?”

“What do you mean?” Cullen pressed, curious by Varric’s bold comment.

“Well, I can certainly picture her rolling around in a meadow, but fighting demons? I was actually surprised she had agreed to travel to Redcliffe at all.”

“Yes…” Cullen thought aloud, agreeing with Varric’s analogy. He, too was surprised when Eleanor Lavellan had arrived back at Haven with a hoard of mages behind her. Covered in dirt and splotches of dried blood, she had lifted up her staff as a sign of victory.Then out of excitement, she had accidentally charged her staff with an electric barrage.

_And, now there is a hole in the Chantry’s ceiling._

Cullen had confiscated her staff after that, declaring she would only have it back before she was to leave for the derelict Temple of Sacred Ashes. He never saw the staff again after she returned, and guessed she had hid it somewhere safe, hoping he would not remember.

“Varric!” Eleanor’s voice rang across the cold, evening air. She was prancing towards them, her long, dark tresses flying behind her. “I haven’t seen you all night. Give Bianca a rest and come join the fun.”

“But Nora, Bianca and I were just starting to get intimate,” Varric hugged his crossbow like a lover. Glancing over at Cullen, he now had a sly grin etched across his face. “But, I’m sure the commander here wouldn’t mind a dance.”

Cullen’s eyes widened as his eyes darted from Varric to The Herald. Oh, how he wanted to stick his sword right into Varric at this very moment.

“Oh,” she peered meekly up at Cullen from below the steps. She had donned new robes that he guessed she had most likely stolen from one of the mage’s chest. In fact, they looked quite flattering on her, hugging her sinewy curves at all the right places. _Compared to the tattered rags she had on after closing the rift, of course_. “Really?”

“No,” his answer came automatically. “Thank You.”

He watched as her face immediately fell. _Blight, was that too harsh?_

“Forgive me, I should return to my duties,” he straightened himself, standing up.

“Right, then,” her face was now showing visible signs of annoyance. “Well, I’m sure you have other more important matters to attend to, commander.” She then turned on her heel and swiftly retreated back into the mess of people.

“You could be a tad nicer to her, you know,” Varric tutted once she was out of sight.

“We do not have the luxury of trading niceties at this point in time.” his reply was ice cold. “This victory is only the first. There is much yet to be done, and we can only accomplish so by focusing--”

“Seeing as The Herald has a crush on you.”

“W-what?” Cullen took a startled step back. _That is not true_. As far as he knew, Eleanor Lavellan had only ever spoken to him on necessary situations. And when they did share words, she had always applied reservation to her thoughts, occasionally mumbling something nonsensical from time to time. Not at all like how she was with Varric, whom Cullen knew she had grown closest to after their mission to Redcliffe together with Cassandra and Solas. If anything, Cullen would summize that she did not like him the least bit. “Do not play your games with me, Varric.”

Stuffing his cleaning cloth back in his pocket, Varric swung Bianca around his shoulder and pushed himself up with a satisfied smile. “Honestly, you templars are blind to everything but duty.”

“Even if it were true, it could never happen. I would never...”

“Because she’s a mage?”

“Because I took a vow.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

“What was the saying, ‘rules are meant to be broken’, yes?”

“That is completely absurd, and out of the question.”

“Suit yourself,” Varric jumped down the steps and before taking his leave,  looked back at Cullen with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “But it would make for a delightful fairytale, don’t you think?”

 

* * *

 

The crowd had started to dissipate, tired from the events of the evening. Ale was running low at the tavern and most of the soldiers had retired to their duties, or were passed out from their incessant drinking. None of her companions were in sight, and Nora herself was slowly growing exhausted from the merriment.

All that dancing had made her hungry. Thankfully, she had nicked a piece of baguette from Mother Giselle’s table earlier on and stowed it in her robes, which was also taken without proper permission. To be fair, she did not wish to remain looking like an arcane horror any longer. The frozen lake stretching before her reigned still, reflecting twinkles from the infinite stars above. _What a beautiful night_.

She broke her bread in two and wrapped the other half back in its cloth. Staring out into the icy black expanse, Nora let herself get lost in romantic dreams as she nipped at her food. As children, Sylvanne, her clan’s hearthmistress, would entice Nora and her friends with a warm fire and tales of worlds far away during the cold winter nights. One of the stories told, which was Nora’s as well as all the little female elflings’ favourite, was of a brave knight who had battled and slain an evil, fire-breathing dragon to save his one true love, a beautiful princess.

“And with blessings from the Gods, the brave warrior brandished his silver sword and struck the evil dragon with a mighty blow!” she remembered Sylvanne slicing the air with the swoosh of an arm, taking pleasure in the _oohs_ and _aahs_ of the little elves circled around her, hanging on to her every word.

It was a simple tale with a happy ending which Nora and her friends would act out time and time again, brandishing sticks at wild nugs, and climbing on rocks by the stream, pretending their way on top a dangerous cliff. To her, that was the way the world worked at that time. Evil would always be vanquished by good, beautiful beings in shining armours. All the princess had to do was sit and wait for her saviour. His win was always guaranteed.

Like all her friends, Nora had grown up to know the tale she so loved was by any means not entirely true. _But, it doesn’t hurt to believe a little, right?_ She wished it were that simple. Princesses, for all she knew, did not sashay around with an eerie green light in their hands.

Faint rustling of twigs pulled her out of her reverie, signalling the arrival of a presence at her back. A figure had parted through the mist and was making its way to her from the shadows of the night.

“Lady Lavellan,” Commander Cullen stood tall and strong. “Forgive me for the intrusion. I did not know anyone would still be out here at this hour.”

His hair was now tousled from the evening breeze, the gleam of the stars framing his chiseled jaw. In his stride, there was an easy confidence and Nora thought he might as well have stepped right out of her story. _So handsome, so out of reach_.

Battling her nerves to maintain a decent posture, Nora lifted the piece of bread up as a gesture of offering and saw him wince when her hand shot up. Rolling her eyes, she sighed, “It’s not a staff.”

“Oh, right,” he inched closer, inspecting the morsel she held, confirming its truth for himself. “If I am permitted to ask, what are you doing outside the gates this late?”

Nora turned around to face her knight, um… commander, “I might ask you the same thing.”

“I was just checking the perimeter before closing the gates,” was his reply, ever so formal. “You never know what demons might be lurking around. Best to be sure there are no looming threats for the night.”

“So you thought I was a threat?”

“Initially, yes. But not anymore after you helped us close the breach at the Temple.”

“I mean before you saw me sitting here.”

“Oh… That, yes… I mean no,” recognizing his mistake, the commander was quick to amend his speech. “Well, no threat would be munching idly on bread.”

Reaching into her robe, she pulled the other half of bread and pointed it at the commander, “Want some?”

“Thank you,” he accepted, releasing it from her hand. “I don’t recall there being bread served at the tavern tonight.”

“I took it from Mother Giselle,’ she said, watching the disapproval in his coming expression.

“You mean you _stole_ it from Mother Giselle?” he corrected. “Like how you _stole_ those robes.”

“As I recall, I wasn’t given much time to pack.” Nora nibbled at her own piece, keeping an eye up on the commander from the ground where she sat. He was so tall and broad that he bathed her in the dark of his shadow. She felt herself weaken underneath his gaze. “Do you always have to be so righteous?”

The commander knelt down facing her to enjoy his own, “It is only right to set a good example for the troops, but one can hardly call me righteous.”

“And why is that?” she wondered aloud.

“I have made my fair share of mistakes in the past. Mistakes which I deeply regret,” he was not looking at her while saying it. Instead, he had his gaze fixed into the distance behind her, as if looking through a window into the past. “But I like to believe those mistakes have made me who I am today. A better man, I hope.”

It was strange to Nora that the commander, for the first time was not barking down her throat or making a harsh snap at her words. _Maybe the person she saw before her was a far better man than the ex-templar she once knew_.

“You decided to stay,” he changed topic, shifting their conversation back to her. He studied her, curiously, “You were given the choice to leave after closing the breach, yet you chose to remain with the Inquisition. Why?”

“Let’s say I owed a debt to my past as well,” the bravado in her managed a wink. “Aren’t you glad I stayed?”

Nora half-expected, hoped, for something romantic to escape his lips. He only offered officiality, “Of course. You are the only one who can close the spreading rifts. The Inquisition would not function as well without your help.”

“Yes, well,” she replied, disappointment plaguing her words. “I wouldn’t want to be held responsible for an empty Thedas.”

“Forgive me,” Commander Cullen replied, sensing her let down. “I must admit, my proficiency at small talk lacks where my ability to take action is evident.”

“You don’t say, I’ve never seen anyone--”

A piercing screech filled the sky in a sudden instant, halting their conversation to a panic-stricken look above. Soaring high in the near distance, Nora had to blink at what was before her. The frozen lake before them turned a menacing black, and a dragon so big had blanketed the stars from its mirrored glow. The screeches did not stop, echoing through the silence of the night, like a million daggers scratching against rusty metal. The flapping of its great wings drew closer and closer. Both Nora and the commander watched in horror as the beast made its descent, circling its way right above Haven.

Far away in the mountains, Nora spied the appearance of figures by the hundreds. They bore no flags, but she knew she was looking at an army. The commander had spotted them too, shifting his dread to the surrounding hills.

“Maker,” Commander Cullen struggled up the ground in alarm. “Get to the Chantry quick. We need to close the gates!”

 


	4. D.O.O.M.E.D

Snow poured incessantly into her boots, but her feet had gone numb and she could no longer feel the frostbite. With what little strength she had left, Nora forced herself to push on harder, making her way through the flurry of white piled high above her knee. Howling winds tried their best to knock her down as she vigorously fought to keep one leg in front of the other, an arm held over her face in a vain attempt to salvage what little vision she had left from the constant attacks of the ferocious blizzard.

Her other hand was hugged around her stomach, clamping down tightly to the thin layer of cloth sheltering her body. The green mark on her palm continued fading in and out as if charging itself for another fight. _That demon thing, whatever is was_ , _had done something to it_. Nora did not know if her success at escaping near death would matter at all if she were doomed to die here, lost in the depths of impending snow. She had to keep on going, she had to find the others.

The gates of Haven did not hold for long, and just as she had finished shuffling the last of the villagers she could find into the Chantry, it had burst open to reveal the monstrous things which came from the hills. Deformed, grotesque beasts with glowing red crystals jutting out of their bodies, massacring everything in their path. And among them, uniforms bearing familiar flaming swords who brought Haven to its quick demise. Say it isn’t so. Templars, wreaking destruction with those hideous creatures!

Something other than white caught her eye. Squinting her eyes, she made out what looked like a pile of wood not far from where she was. Slowly, excruciatingly, she willed herself closer to the form. The moment she reached out her hands to grasp the pole for support, she cried in relief. It was still warm, which meant someone had started a fire. _Bless the Maker, they were alive!_

 _But, where were they?_ She scanned around as far away as the blizzard allowed her to see, and could point out no soul within sight. The last she saw of Leliana and Josephine was at the Chantry. They were urgently scurrying about, trying to get the villagers into order before proceeding through the secret path Chancellor Roderick had revealed. Her party, Varric, Cassandra and Solas had disappeared after that demon thing had swooped down on the back of the massive archdemon dragon. _And, Commander Cullen?_ She had not seen him since the lake. After ordering her to harbour every villager she could find in the Chantry, she knew he had ran off to line up the defenses. _But, had he been able to escape Haven? Oh, Andraste,_ she prayed in her heart. _Please don’t let him die._

Her knees had given up on her. Nora relented and fell to the floor in defeat. There was no use pushing forward. The snow was too thick, the blizzard only growing stronger. Even if she did press on, she would not be able to last another hour in the unforgiving windstorm. It was blinding her, closing in on her that she could only see as far as the tips of her fingers. Pressing herself against the trifling warmth of the wood, she huddled in a ball and buried her head between her knees. Her cheeks burned from the cruel cuts of snowy blasts. Tiny black dots started to appear before her eyes, multiplying as each second passed.

 _Eleanor…_ Voices circled in her mind, calling her name. _Eleanor..._

 _Cullen…_ It was too much to speak. _Cullen..._

Only darkness surrounded her.

 

* * *

 

“Please, you must eat something,” Mother Giselle tried to push the bowl in her hands. “You need to regain your strength.”

Nora crossed her arms and turned her head away, “I’m not hungry.”

“You need all the energy you can get, child.”

For the past two nights, Nora had taken to remaining in her tent and had refused to see anyone except Mother Giselle. Well, she had refused her too at the beginning, but the Revered Mother would not have any of it. Nora had woken to a throbbing headache after being found by the others. Commander Cullen was among the search party, and had carried her back to their make-shift camp. That was what Varric had told her when she finally opened her eyes.

Varric had also revealed something else. Apparently, while passed out in the commander’s arms, she was calling out his name repeatedly. Over, and over again. That was why Nora had refused any visitors inside her tent. She was simply too embarrassed to face them. Death by blizzard seemed a far better way to go than the thought of facing the commander again.

But, she was still alive and well. Though, her temper tantrum begged to differ. Nora knew that sooner or later, she would have to venture out of her tent. But by Andraste’s sword, she would hold that moment off for as long as she could. Whenever someone so much as poked a hand through the flimsy flaps blocking her from the outside world, all hell was unleashed on them and whomever’s hand it belonged to would make a rapid retreat back where it came from.

Bundled in layers of cloth, Nora dug her hands below her thighs, hugging herself. Her stomach was aching for some warmth, but she could not bear the thought of taking pleasure in a bowl of soup. Not while the trauma of hearing Varric’s report still tormented her thoughts.

 _Over, and over again._ Nora felt sick at the reminder. _You were calling out his name. Over, and over again._

_Maker, take her. Maybe, if she starved herself a for a few more days, she just might reach her goal._

“Stubbornness will not get you anywhere, my dear,” Mother Giselle remained persistent. “I heard what happened. Starving yourself over something so petty is not befitting of a Herald.”

“Oh, no. Not you too,” Nora moaned. “Next, you’re going to tell me the entire camp is aware of this!”

“Just your search party, I am pleased to say,” she confirmed. “Your friend, Varric enlightened me with the situation. Seeing as I’m the only one permitted inside your tent.”

“I’m doomed! D-O-O-M-E-D,” Nora buried her face in the cloths.

“Yes Herald, we all know you can spell”

“What is the point of living anymore?” Nora flung herself on the ground, wishing she could melt into nothing but a puddle. “Mythal’enaste, I want to die!”

“If I may Herald, but if you do happen to die within the next five minutes or so, I do not think the commander will be too pleased when he pays his visit.”

Nora shot straight up like at arrow, “No, Mother Giselle you didn’t!”

“Now, I suggest that you fix that unruly hair of yours,” she said, and calmly began to tidy up the tangled mess on Nora’s head. “Best settle all this nonsense before we move on to more important things, yes?”

Nora shook her head fervently and dipped under the blanket, “You can’t make me talk to him. Please, don’t let him come in. For the love of Andraste, I’m naked!”

“Then I do suggest you put on some clothes, quickly.”

 

* * *

 

“Cullen…” her voice was weak as she lay limp in his arms. “Cullen…”

“I am here,” he had assured her. “We will get you to safety.”

But she had kept repeating it, unaware he was even there. First, Cassandra heard it, then Varric and Solas. But, the urgent need to bring her to warmth had deterred the search party from addressing her constant pleas for “Cullen…”

And then she had whispered into his chest, “Save me, Cullen.”

It was barely audible but he had caught it when the others did not. She was out of her mind, she was not thinking straight, of course. Cullen did not want to think anymore of it. However, his companions did not feel the same way.

“What is she on about?” Cassandra had tried with him when they were back at camp. “You and the Herald… and now she is refusing to come out of that tent.”

Cullen had spent the last two nights fending off the poking and prodding from all sides. Word had reached Leliana and Josephine, and even they were curious to know why the Herald of Andraste called out only one name the entire time she was unconscious.

“I thought she hated you,” Josephine’s face was scrunched up in confusion..

"Not anymore,” Leliana had joined in.

“Maybe the mark on her hand showed her a sign while she was unconscious.”

“I don’t think that’s it, Solas,” Varric grinned. “Maybe she just likes saying his name.”

“Enough, everyone!” Cullen’s voice thundered, commanding silence. “What is _important_ is that the Herald is alive. What is _important_ is that we found her. What is _important_ is that we must now find safe shelter away from Corypheus. The Herald is not in a right state of mind. Let us leave it at that.”

“Excuse me, Commander Cullen,” Mother Giselle’s appearance had caused the rest to withdraw from any more pursuits. “Could I have a moment of your time?”

“Of course, Revered Mother,” Cullen was all too glad to leave his prying party.

“The Herald has informed me that she wishes to speak with you,” she had told him, as they strolled along the edge of camp.. “Perhaps, you should pay her a visit tonight?”

And there he was, standing awkwardly outside her tent. Cullen reconsidered if it was such a good idea to enter. Except for Mother Giselle, Eleanor Lavellan had frightened the living daylights out of anyone who dared peep inside that tent of hers with her threatening shrieks. _He should start thinking of an escape plan if the things went south._

The villagers at the camp were left in the dark, confused as to why their Herald had hid herself away for two whole days. Josephine had set to work, assuring them that the Herald of Andraste was simply tired, and had to take time to rest from a mild cold. Cullen knew full well that they needed to carry on their journey forwards very soon. They were still in danger of being found by Corypheus if they camped here any longer. It was a risk he was not willing to take.

That meant he would have to talk to the temperamental Herald, holed up in her tiny fortress. _Fine, let us get this over with. For the Inquisition._ He held his breath and entered Eleanor Lavellan’s tent.

Though only big enough for two, the Herald’s tent was larger than everyone else’s in camp. Eleanor Lavellan sat cross-legged in her makeshift bed on the ground, Mother Giselle at her side. Her face flushed a bright burgundy the moment he stepped in, eyes darting to her lap.

Rising, Mother Giselle casted him a satisfied smile, “Ah, Commander Cullen. Please, do come in. I do not think this place will fit the three of us, so I will take my leave.” She nodded and calmly proceeded out the tent. _Here goes nothing._

“Herald,” he addressed the woman who refused to look at him. “I trust you have had a good rest.”

“What do you want?” she did not look up to meet his eyes. “If this is about what happened, I don’t have anything to say. So, you can leave.”

Cullen moved in cautiously, as if he were approaching a sleeping bear. “Just how long do you think you are going to stay inside this tent?”

“As long as I want.” _Maker, was she being difficult._

The tent was not tall enough to hold his full height. Crouching down, Cullen levelled himself with her. She seemed to be more interested with her lap than carrying a conversation with him. “We need to make a move, soon.”

“Then go on without me,” she insisted.

“Listen,” his patience was waning. “Either you come out of this tent or Maker help me, I will drag you out myself.”

“You would not dare.”

“Try me,” he challenged, meaning every word of it. “Trust me, that would not be a pretty sight.”

Finally, he had caught her attention. She faced him, her green eyes blazing like she was going to burst at him any second. He braced himself for an attack.

“Fine,” she was smart enough to know she was defeated. “We will move out first thing in the morning.”

Cullen let out an internal sigh of relief. Things unfolded much better than he had expected. He wouldn’t be surprise if it had ended with him dragging her out by her feet, while she kicked and screamed. He knew that this was his cue to leave, but strangely enough, he did not know why that at that exact moment, curiosity had got the better of him.

“Why did you call my name?” he asked, and immediately regretted it.

The colour had returned to Eleanor Lavellan’s cheeks, but she did not move her eyes away. Instead, she looked at him as if trying to decipher his intent to the question.

“I did not call your name,” she finally said. “There are others bearing your name too, you know. I was thinking of, er… another Cullen.”

“Oh, really?” Cullen stared at her in amusement, trying to control himself from laughing. He must have failed, because she immediately noticed his stifled grin.

“I’m serious!” she insisted. “If you must know, he is from Kirkwall.”

“So, this Cullen you speak of,” he could not help but tease her. “What does he do exactly?”

“He is a templar.”

Cullen could not remember any other templar in Kirkwall bearing the same name as him. _This woman is unbelievable. She could have been smarter and picked a better occupation._

 _All right_ , he decided he would entertain her humour for a little bit, “And how did you come to know this… Cullen the templar?”

“He saved my life once,” she replied. “Outside a tavern in Lowtown.”

“That is absurd,” he dismissed her story. “Why would a templar help an apost--”

It struck him like a lightning bolt. At once, everything came rushing in like water rushing through the floodgates. After the Champion of Kirkwall put an end to Knight Commander Meredith’s insanity, the templars in Kirkwall were in a disarray. Cullen had been the Knight Commander’s successor, and was in shock from his superior’s actions. He was regretting his views on mages and what he had done to them under the Knight Commander’s orders. Then, one night he had spotted a young elf mage, helpless in the clutches of a bandit. He had stopped the bandit, and instead of taking of turning the apostate in to the Order, he had let her go.

“That was you?” Cullen could hardly believe it. “The apostate outside The Hanged Man… this is insane. You, the Herald of Andraste…”

“I prefer just Nora, thank you very much,” she laughed, awkwardly. She looked uncomfortable, and had resorted to fiddling the corners of her sheets with her fingers. “I can’t believe I told you. Well,no going back now right?”

“Why did you not tell me at Haven?”

“I didn’t want things to be weird,” her voice grew softer, quieter. “Besides, you can be very intimidating.”

“Well,” he cleared his throat, not knowing what else to say. “Now I know.”

Clearly, she still had not answered his initial question. Cullen was not so sure he wanted to know anymore. What she had just revealed, that was such a long time ago. _Had he really made such an impact on her life?_

“So…” she was biting her lips, nibbling at it slowly. A pang of guilt spread all over Cullen as he watched her. He could not understand why she seemed suddenly… so tempting. “What now?”

 _This is crazy._ While fighting to regain control over himself, Cullen had not realized that their faces had drawn closer together. They were now only inches away from one another. Her forest green eyes were on him, searching for some clue to his thoughts. She had stopped her biting, and her lips were now parted slightly, her breaths silent. Cullen could not bring himself to move away. _Maker, had she always looked like this?_

Dark brown hair, skin like ivory, soft hands which never knew of a day’s hard work. Eleanor Lavellan was the kind of girl who always had everything she wanted handed to her on a silver platter. All she had to do was throw a princess fit, and her path would be immediately cleared of any obstruction. Even if he had wanted to, _and he did not_ , he could only ever imagine that it would conclude at a very bad ending. 

He pulled back, “What now is that we have to find a new stronghold.”

“Oh, I see…”

“Look, forget about the templar,” he knew it must have felt like he was putting a dagger through her, but it had to be done. “Whatever you thought of him and still think of him, forget it too.”

He turned to get up. She reached out, taking hold of his arm. “Cullen, I…”

“Whatever it is that you are feeling,” he cut her off, determined. “Forgive me, but I do not feel the same way.”

She let go.

 


	5. The Fool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kindly note that this chapter contains sexual content.

A month had passed by all too quickly, and the state of Skyhold had seen nothing but improvement thanks to generous donations from nobles supporting the Inquisition’s cause. After successfully escaping yet another ordeal in the Fade, Eleanor Lavellan was now starting to hate the colour green.

But one thing she did not hate, or rather someone, was Hawke. Tall, dark and handsome, James Hawke was a man who collected swooning girls with every step he took. Being Champion of Kirkwall also provided many bonus points to his already charming demeanour. Eleanor could see why he and Varric got along so well. They both shared a passion for sarcasm, wit, and artful teasing.

Hawk had thrown a flirtatious line or two at Nora’s way, but then again he had done the same thing to every other female with two legs. Nora decided that flattery looked good on her, and had chosen not to dismiss Hawke whenever he made his remarks. Maker knows she needed a little break after fighting all those demons.

_She also needed it to forget a certain ex-templar._

“My,my. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Hawke had flashed her a devastating smile as she made her way towards them.

“We were just talking about you,” Varric gestured her over. “Hawke here wants to know if you happen to be seeing a special someone at the moment.”

Nora flushed, “Not at the moment, no.”

“Good to know that men like me still have a chance then,” Hawke replied with ease, leaning against the bannisters.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Varric had on that wicked grin Nora was all too familiar with. “She might not be seeing a special someone, but that does not mean that a someone does not exist.”

“Varric!” Nora protested, but it was too late.

“Oh? And who might that be?” the Champion had on that same grin. “Is it one of the soldiers? Or a certain commander perhaps?”

“You told him?!” _Great, just great._

“Come on Nora, it’s not like you hide it very well,” Varric explained. “Hawke might as well know too.”

“By the way, Commander Cullen wants me to deliver this to him,” Hawke held up a scroll of parchment and handed it to Nora. “Best you take a look to check for any mistakes.”

Nora scanned through the words. It was a report on what had happened in The Fade, “Looks fine to me.”

“Good, would you be so kind to do me a favour and give that to him?”

 _Commander Cullen, yes_. A month had also gone by with Nora barely exchanging more than a word with him outside of war council meetings. Even in those meetings, the commander had only said no more than what was necessary. Every other time they passed each other by, he had only acknowledged her with a curt, “Inquisitor.”

“I’m not giving this to him!” Nora tried to stuff the scroll back into his hands, but he had backed away laughing with hands in the air. “This is your report, you give it to him.”

“Don’t you have to hand in yours as well?” Varric asked. “You might as well submit the both together.”

True, Nora had already written up hers some time back. However, she had been procrastinating on turning in the report for days now. Simply put, she did not know how to approach the commander without feeling like a miserable dungbeetle. The rest of her companions provided no help at all, each of them voicing their own reasons for refusing to pass the report on for her.

“Not you too, Varric,” she sighed in dismay. “Please, don’t make me do this.”

“I’m not making you do anything, Nora,” he implied. “It is your choice. You could always wait for him to come to you.”

“You know he won’t. He will send one of his men to get it”

“Right you are. So why not take this as an opportunity?”

“I second that,” Hawke agreed. “Now, run along Inquisitor. You have work to do.”

“I do so hate the both of you.”

 

* * *

 

For the past ten minutes, Nora had been lingering stiffly in front of the commander’s door. The reports were clutched in her hands, and she had attempted to knock a couple of times, raising her fist only to drop it back to her side. Exasperated, she shook her head and mentally punished herself for being such a coward. She had already fought demons, but they were nothing compared to facing the wrath of Commander Cullen’s death glare.It was not just her. In fact, she had overheard one of the soldiers claiming he would rather be ripped apart by darkspawn than shouted at by the commander. It is safe to say that Commander Cullen Rutherford had instilled respect as well as terror in the hearts of those under his watch.

At first, she had made up her mind to refrain from flinging the papers at him during their next meeting, and then running away. She had told herself that she was braver than that. She could face him, and they would talk like normal beings do, then all this weird not speaking to each other business would cease. He would go back to being the stern, handsome commander and she would go back to being, well, Nora. Now, she was not so sure.

A brilliant idea struck her. Nora decided that she would simply slide the reports under his door. _Perfect! He would receive the reports on time and in a way, she was handing them to him personally, right?_

 _I should leave a note too_ , she thought. _Just to let him know that it was from me._

She pulled out a pen and started to scribble on the top of the parchment.

 

_Dear Commander,_

_Here are your Fade reports._

_xx Nora_

 

 _No, wait. That was an accident_. She hastily scratched the X’s away. _There, better._

_Dear Commander,_

_Here are your Fade reports._

_~~xx~~ Nora_

She proceeded to bend down and slipped them under his door. _Success!_ She punched the air in triumph and turned around, smacking right into a solid chest. Stumbling back, Nora found the commander staring right at her.

“What are you doing?” he did not seem too pleased.

“I- was just er…” she stammered. “delivering reports… from the Fade.”

“By slipping them under my door?”

“Um… yes?” she squeaked. “About that…”

He sighed and unlocked the door, holding it open for her, “Come in, Inquisitor.”

Picking up the pieces of paper from the floor, he studied the reports for a moment. Amusement flashed through his hazel eyes.

“What is this?” he pointed at Nora’s note.

“Those... are notes, ser,” she confirmed, hesitantly.

“And the X’s?”

“A mistake, ser,” she tried clarifying. “As you can see, I crossed them out.”

“I can see that. But… Maker’s breath, just forget it,” another sigh escaped his lips. “I thought I had made myself clear that day.”

Nora winced a little, knowing full well what he meant. “Yes, you were clear. You want nothing to do with me.”

“That was not what I said,” she sensed his rising impatience.

Her own pent up frustration had started to well up inside. Nora had spent the last month trying to figure out why he was refusing to even so much as speak to her. Yes, he had rejected her outright before Skyhold. _But by Andraste’s sword, that was a month ago! Shouldn’t he at least cut her some slack and try to make peace?_ It is bad enough that she was still mending her wounds from having been jilted by him. _In the first place_ , she thought, _none of this would have happened if I hadn’t called out his bloody name!_

“Why don’t you like me?” she said, aware that this was not the first time the question was asked. “Am I not good enough for you, commander?”

Every fiber in her being wanted to know why. He had not provided her with an explanation, and what she wanted more than anything was a reason. Any reason. _Was it because she was a mage? Did he not like elves? Why did he not feel the same way?_ She wanted more than just a straight out NO.

“Let us not do this again,” he attempted to end the conversation.

“Why are you avoiding me?” she demanded. “Honestly, do I look like I have the plague?”

“Inquisitor, please…”

“I deserve an explanation. Tell me why, Commander Cullen! Anything will suffice. Do you not like the way I look? Or is it because I am an apostate?” Nora was practically shouting by then. She did not know what had took hold over her. “Why do you despise me so?”

“It is not right,” he answered, simply.

“There you go again,” she said, incredulously. “You and your vague remarks. What kind of an explanation is that?”

“You are the Inquisitor,” he fixed her a hard glare, warning her not to take this any further. “We can’t do this. You would not want me to either.”

“Why?”

“You will not like what happens after that. Trust me, you do not want a man like me.”

“But I do!” she stomped her feet on the ground. And, she really did. Nora had not recognized her feelings before, but now it was clear. What she thought was a mere crush, had turned out to be more than just lust.

She felt petty. The ordeal had rapidly turned from her making demands, to her begging. It was not a pretty sight. He had total control over her, and she had all too willingly let him take the reins. What little arsenal she owned often floundered upon contact with the invincible barrier in which he built around himself. No magic of Nora’s, however powerful, could penetrate it.

“Really, you do not want this, Inquisitor,” he was on the brink of a potential outburst. Yet, Commander Cullen remained unmoved, troubled by his unwillingness to lash out at her. “All you will ever achieve out of this is disappointment.”

Still, Nora was determined to challenge his hidden rage. Taking a brave step forward, she willed herself to lock in his eyes with hers. She had to break through that wall. “I am not as weak as you think. I don’t care what others will think. I care about you, commander. Andraste know why, but you have never left my mind since that day in Kirkwall. I never forgot you…”

 _There_ , she had said it. Nora willed herself to continue as he stood startled, digesting her confession. “Commander… Cullen… I- I think I--”

He grabbed her. Nora was pulled in so close, the tip of her nose brushed against his . His eyes searched hers, dark and forewarning. She could feel the heat of his breath on her, so sweet and musky. He smelt of wet fields after a heavy rain. Nora floundered in his grasp, her mind scattered in a blundering pandemic.

“Is this what you want, Inquisitor?” he whispered darkly, arm binded tight around her. With his other hand, he cupped her face hard, forcing her chin up. “Do you really want me to do this to you?”

He was hurting her, and he knew it. But strangely, she wanted it. The masochist in her burned for the desire to lavish in his cruel touch. At that point, no matter what he said, no matter what he did, Nora would give herself fully and wholeheartedly without a fight. Oh yes, she had wanted him that bad.

“I do,” she breathed.

Cullen relaxed his grip on her, and let his fingers were trail down her cheek, tracing her quivering lips. Before she could languish in his sweet caresses, Nora felt herself fly across the room. Her back slammed against a bookshelf and the commander strided towards her, pinning her hands above her head. His mouth came crashing down on hers, biting her lips, coaxing her to part them. She gave in, feeling the heat of his tongue taking possession of her soul. He pushed in harder, straining her against the hard wooden shelf.

Nora moaned, pleasure seizing her body as he pressed a knee between her thighs. She had not realized how big he really was. He lifted her feet off the ground with ease, all the while trailing rough kisses down her neck. Her hands were still trapped above her and all she could do was arch her back, wanting more. He pulled away from her and tugged at her robes, revealing the bare skin of her shoulders.

“What have you done to me.” It was not a question, and he was not in want of an answer.

His free hand moved under her robes, lifting the fabric as he travelled up her inner thigh. She had never let anyone touch her like this before. His was coarse, calloused from swordplay. His strokes were firm, grazing right beneath her sex. _Oh, Maker take me_ , everything around her turned into a hazy blur. Slowly, he circled his knee between her legs, and she let out another relishing cry. He caught her mouth once more, fierce and domineering, commanding every ounce of self-control she had left, plunging deeper and deeper.

“Oh, Cullen…” she moaned into his wet lips.

Once again, he had reduced her to desiring for nothing more except his undivided attention. She yearned to lavish in his embrace for all eternity. Nothing existed anymore, only the man before her.

“Is this what you want?” he growled, and brushed a finger against the soft folds of her sex.

Then, he flicked her. A sharp flick which sent a hot surge spiralling down her belly. He repeated it again, pressing in harder each time he swiped his finger over her. She cried out again and again, her head tipped back, on the verge of exploding into a million tiny pieces.His teases were unbearable, relentless… unforgiving. Nora had not felt this way before. All her thoughts were drowned by sheer pleasure, and she was numb to everything but his touch. He had total, utter control over her.

She felt his finger push deep in her. All at once, her muscles clamped down, tingles shooting up her spine. Her thighs were hot and moist, exposed to the cool air surrounding his tower. This was becoming too much for her. She knew she should stop this, but her body was no longer hers. _Maker,_ she wanted more. She wanted him. Nora wished she could touch him; place her hands on his beautiful, tormented face. She tried moving, but his grip only hardened around her wrists.

He slid his finger in and out, slowly picking up pace. The pleasure was excruciating. Her stomach twisted tighter, tighter. Letting go of her hands, he covered his palm over her mouth and inserted another finger, stretching into her. Her cries were muffled as she wrapped her arms around his neck, clutching the clothes on his back, taking him in.

He bribed her lips to part by pressing his index finger into her mouth.

“Suck,” he ordered, and she did as she was told, helpless under his leash.

He had his thumb on her folds, teasing her in slow, agonizing circles as his two fingers rocked back and forth inside of her. She was his prisoner, and he had laid claim to her, both body and soul.

“Cullen… “ she moaned. “Oh, Cullen…”

It was too much too handle. Her head was spinning, her every muscle in tight knots, quivering. It was a painful pleasure she did not want to end, yet at the same time, she wanted to let it all go, and she did. All at once, it was as if the world was a mirror shattering around her, and her mind had shot up, up above the skies into in a sea of stars. For the first time, Nora had lost herself, and found herself again.

Cullen pressed his forehead on her naked shoulder, his breath ragged. Still panting, she rested a cheek against his sandy hair, still weak from the wave of pure bliss. For a while, neither of them spoke. Then, he lifted his head to look at her, eyes dark and ablaze. He seemed… disturbed, like he had fallen in battle. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, and Nora lifted a trembling hand to his face. He turned away.

“You will regret this ever happened,” he released her, letting her sink onto the floor.

Nora watched the man she loves pick up the forgotten reports from his desk and proceed out the door. As he shut it behind him, Nora wondered in dismay as to why he was always the one walking away from her.


	6. Personal Affairs

_To my dearest brother(who finally wrote back to me) Cullen,_

_Honnleath is as boring as when you left it. Mother is not feeling too well, and I have taken to managing the crops with Branson. Rosalie is to marry Snotty Sam a month from now. Honestly, I don’t know what she sees in him. Remember when we caught him eating all those boogers? You never let him live it down after that. Will you be able to make it back in time for the wedding? I’m sure Snotty Sam would shit his pants at the sight of you._

_I am glad that everything is going well with the Inquisition, and that you have not been sucked into any green holes of death, yet. But, do you ever talk of anything else? My dear brother, it seems to me as if you have caught a disease. A very bad one that will eventually turn you into a cranky, old prune. If all that nasty lyrium doesn’t get you first, this will._

_Speaking of weddings, Mother is curious to know if you might have perhaps met anyone new as of late? Lady Josephine sounds like an interesting woman. To think if you were to marry a noble! I bet she’s pretty too. Anyways, I’ve got to run. Philip is taking me out to the lake tonight. Isn’t it all so romantic!_

_Take care, and don’t die too quickly._

_With Love,_  
_Mia_

_P.S: That Inquisitor of yours sounds like a real nutjob from the way you described her. I hope she doesn’t give you too much grief._

 

* * *

 

“Inquisitor… Inquisitor!”

“Mm?” Nora was transported back from her daydream to the war council room.

Cassandra was frowning at her in disapproval while the others looked on silently. Her fingers tapped away impatiently on the edge of the massive war table. They had been deep in discussion for the past two hours, and Nora’s mind was anywhere but. Occasionally, Nora would do a little nod to assure her companions of her undivided attention, letting their words fly by her head instead. War council meetings never did particularly interest her, and today was no different.

“As I was saying,” Cassandra continued. “With the rapidly increasing numbers of Venatori, the commander has suggested that we double our efforts to search for more hideouts around Ferelden and Orlais…”

Nora had already come up with a list of things to occupy herself with while trapped in with her companions during those dreary meetings. Her activities on the list included picking at her nails, guessing what was for dinner, thinking of anything but the war council, and admiring Commander Cullen’s pretty face. The last one was her favourite. She did so enjoy staring into those hazel eyes as he droned on about something to do with the trebuchets, tracing her way down to where his scar moved with the rhythm of his lips.

But on this day, she was preoccupied by grimmer thoughts. Cullen was absent in the meeting. One of the recruits had notified Cassandra that the commander was tied up in an emergency. It seemed that a group of soldiers had gone missing while in the midst of gathering resources along the sand dunes of The Exalted Plains. He had also been absent in their last two meetings. In fact, Nora had not seen Cullen since that day in his tower; the day they he had ravaged her like a hungry beast, and then left her like she was a broken toy, abandoned and unwanted.

He had been so cruel. After she had finally picked herself up and ran to her quarters, Nora spent the night sobbing into her pillow. By the time she had used up all her energy from crying, her pillow stained with tears, Nora swore she would never let herself be treated like that again. She hated him for the way he made her feel helpless in his arms, the way he had toyed with her. She hated the way he treated her, how he made her believe he had wanted her too. She had given herself to him, and he had ripped her heart right out of her chest. Oh, how she hated him for making her think he actually loved her.

Yet, whenever she pictured herself pinned against his bookshelf, tingles would surge through her like wildfire. The very memory of his embrace, his lips on hers; it was tearing her up inside, eating its way to the core. It pained her to know, that deep down inside, even after what he had done, she knew she still wanted him. And that was what she hated the most. He had left her wrecked, a pathetic mess, and Nora still loved him.

“Inquisitor!” the boom of Cassandra’s voice interrupted her once more. “I understand that you probably have more important matters to attend to, but your attention to our current issue would be very much appreciated.”

“Judging by your expression Inquisitor,” Leliana examined. “I would conclude that perhaps your distraction has something to do with the actions of our commander?”

“W-what? No!” Nora protested. “I mean, why would you say that? I wasn’t thinking of him at all! That is to say, there is a lot to think about him, but I wasn’t--”

“So you are not worried then?” Josephine seemed puzzled. “Don’t you think he is being a little rash in his decision?”

“I say let him go,” Leliana replied. “I am sure the commander is capable enough to find his missing recruits alI the more quicker if he travels there personally. I can always notify my agents to keep an eye out for his whereabouts, just in case.”

“But we need the commander in Skyhold,” Josephine protested. “Lady Forsithia of Nevarra has threatened to send soldiers here because of a deal we struck with her brother whom she is feuding with. Commander Cullen’s presence in Skyhold will come in handy if she ever does decide to dispatch her troops.”

“I’m sure your excellent writing skills can dissuade her of that,” Leliana pointed out.

“I will try, but I cannot guarantee it,” Josephine shook her head, stressed at having to spend another day penning what must be the twentieth letter to Lady Forsithia. “This trip of his might take up to a week. Unless there is a way to shorten the time taken--”

“Our numbers in forces do not allow us to do so,” Cassandra confirmed the ambassador’s hopes. “Leliana suspects that their disappearance could have something to do with Venatori sighted in The Exalted Plains. According to Cullen, we already have patrols stationed at various campsites around the area. If we send any more over, there will not be enough recruits left for other missions. Some of which we have already delayed for far too long.”

“The platoon stationed there is small,” Leliana said. “If this is indeed the Venatori’s doing, I fear the commander will experience a short-hand in arms. My agents have also notified me that there are still a couple of open rifts near to where the recruits were reported to have gone missing.”

 _Oh, right_. Nora had realized by now that her companions were not referring to her intimacies with the commander. She relaxed a little, taking comfort in knowing that her secret was still safe. It was bad enough that the whole of Skyhold knew of her crush on Cullen. But Maker knows what scandal it would be if they knew it was so much more than that. Commander Cullen had always been regarded as a firm believer of discipline and self-sacrifice. And, as Inquisitor, Nora had her own reputation to uphold.

“I see,” Cassandra paused, articulating the information her companions had presented. “These open rifts might pose as a threat for the commander. Inquisitor, you had previously explored The Exalted Plains. I thought you mentioned in the reports that all the rifts had been sealed.”

“Well, when I mentioned all… I did not mean literally _all_ of them,” Nora admitted, embarrassed at being caught red-handed. “It was meant to be a figure of speech.”

“A figure of speech?!” Cassandra shot her a horrified look. “Do you realize how many lives could be potentially endangered because of your ‘figure of speech’?”

“But it was so far away,” Nora tried at an excuse. “It would have taken us more than an hour to reach it.”

“Inquisitor!”

Nora fell silent, “I’m sorry. I had not thought about it at the time. I was just so… tired. The Exalted Plains is not a particularly breezy place.”

Cassandra looked like she was about to punch her, “Inquisitor, I strongly advise that you do not take your role lightly. We did not agree to propel you to this title for you to overlook the severity of such a threat.”

“Maybe the Inquisitor could accompany the commander to The Exalted Plains?” Leliana proposed in attempt to cool the tension boiling in the room. “That way, she could close the remaining rifts and aid the commander in retrieving the missing recruits.”

“That is not such a bad idea,” Josephine chimed in. “It would certainly shorten their time away and possibly reduce casualties.”

“What?!” Nora protested, not liking the idea of having to spend anymore time alone with Cullen. “But, don’t you need me at Skyhold? Can’t someone else go instead?”

“”Unless you can find another Herald who can close rifts, I can’t think of a better option,” Leliana fired back. “What do you think, Cassandra?”

“I agree,” the Seeker seemed convinced with the plan. “Then it is settled. The Inquisitor will leave for The Exalted Plains with Commander Cullen at dawn tomorrow.”

Nora had been overruled. It was dark by the time she exited the war council room, and now she had to prepare for a long journey come morning. A journey with the man who had thrown her aside like rotten milk. Nora’s head hurt to think of the endless hours she had to spend by Commander Cullen’s side. It was nothing short of agony. As she made her way to the courtyard with intent to down a pint at the tavern before retiring to her quarters, Nora heard voices escalating from the training yard. Upon closer inspection, she found the figures of Commander Cullen and Cassandra deep in argument.

“Absolutely not,” the commander’s voice boomed. “I will be perfectly fine handling this by myself.”

“The war council has already come to an agreement,” Cassandra shot back. “The Inquisitor will accompany you to close the remaining rifts.”

“She can travel there by herself.”

“You have no reason to refuse her help,” the Seeker implied. “I can see nothing but benefit in her accompanying you to find the lost soldiers.”

“That is not necessary,” Cullen disputed. “If I had wanted help, I would have asked for it.”

“Might I remind you of your duty to the Inquisition, commander,” Cassandra contested. “I do not pretend to know what is going on between both you and the Inquisitor, but your apparent disdain for her is rousing suspicions amongst spectators. If what I suspect is true, it has to end right now.”

“And what do you suspect, Seeker?” Cullen’s tone had turned poisonous, warning Cassandra not to take this fued any further.

Not being one to run from danger, the Seeker only took this as further incentive to challenge him, “Everyone knows that our Inquisitor is in love with you--”

“That is absurd,” he dismissed her claims with an impatient wave of his hand. “The Inquisitor does not harbour any feelings for me--”

“Leliane saw her running out of your tower in tears the other day,” Cassandra pressed on. “Since then, your apparent absence at war council meetings only confirmed your wariness of being in her presence.”

“I was not aware that the Inquisition had the right to spy on my personal affairs,” Cullen hissed.

“If your personal affairs poses a threat to the Inquisitor’s sterling reputation, I will not object to it,” Cassandra hissed back.

“Listen well Seeker,” the commander took a step closer. “For I will only indulge you once and never again. Inquisitor Lavellan had confessed to me and I have rejected her affections. That is it. She may be the gallant Herald in everyone’s eyes, but she is a foolish child with no control over her own thoughts and feelings.”

Commander Cullen turned to leave, and would almost have caught sight of Nora had she not made a swift leap into the bushes to hide.

“Commander,” Cassandra called out, and he turned his head. “If it were true, I would believe you. However, we both know that is not all you think of the Inquisitor.”

Cullen did not answer, choosing instead to storm away in silent fury. Nora waited until Cassandra was out of sight before emerging from her hiding spot. Bits of leaves stuck to the fabric of her robes, and she slowly picked them away, more confused than ever over what she had overheard. _Oh Maker, did she need a drink_.

Nora advanced to the tavern and upon entering, was greeted by so charming a smile, it could only have belonged to one person.

“Fancy seeing you here, Inquisitor,” James Hawke pulled out a chair beside him. “Interested in having a pint with me?”

 

* * *

 

_Dear Mia,_

_Forgive me, but I will not be able to attend the wedding. There is still much to do in regards to the Inquisition, and I fear we have only accomplished less than half of it. Please send my congratulations to Rosalie and Snotty Sam. I wish them all the best and hope that Rosalie finds much happiness in sweeping stray boogers from the floor everyday._

_I have enclosed some gold for Mother. If she continues to feel ill, please do not hesitate to a fetch a healer to treat her. I will make it a point to visit once this is all over, though I cannot guarantee how long it may be. As to your constant pestering about the ambassador, we work well together and nothing more. And, I am not a prune._

_Tell Philip that he had better treat you right, or he will be staring at the end of my sword sooner than he thinks. Take care of yourself, sister. Do not ruin Rosalie’s special day._

_With love,_  
_Cullen_

_P.S: I fear I may have exaggerated my words about the Inquisitor in my last letter. She is not so bad._

 

 


	7. Dare To Dream

Before the sun had barely peeked its light above Skyhold, Commander Cullen was already wide awake, dressed and checking the reins of his steed at the stable. The rest of Skyhold were still fast asleep, save for Dennet the horsemaster, who was busy tending to the rest of the mares and Eleanor Lavellan’s halla. Cullen was never fond of the creature. For one, this particular halla was so large that Master Dennet had to break down the barrier between two cubicles to house it. He did not understand why the Inquisitor, being such a tiny woman, needed such a massive beast when a sleek stallion would serve as a more practical option. Second, the damn thing ate too much. Ever since the Inquisitor had announced of her preference to ride a halla instead of a normal horse and they had brought it in, Skyhold had reported to experience an increase of almost double the amount of turnips needed. Did he mention that the thing also emitted a sound equivalent to a hundred dying buffaloes?

The halla had been let out of its confines, and was now grazing on a patch of grass uncovered by remnants of melted snow. Cullen watched as the great beast calmly nibbled at the greenery and wondered how a creature so big could move with such impeccable silence that the quiet of the night proved no challenge to it. That is, until it decides to open its mouth. Put a Dalish anywhere, and you will see her halla too.

It was almost time to leave, but Cullen spotted no signs of the Inquisitor yet. Against his protests, Cassandra had given him no choice but to allow the Inquisitor to accompany him to The Exalted Plains. Cullen was not so blind to miss out on Cassandra’s motives for having the Inquisitor follow him on his quest. Sure, there were rifts to be closed, but the Seeker knew that this expedition together would indirectly give both Cullen and Lavellan time alone, away from the prying eyes of Skyhold. Cullen had to hand it to Cassandra, the woman was smart and he knew she meant well, but last night’s confrontation was out of line. Cassandra had no right to meddle with his private affairs.

After how he had treated her that day in his tower, Cullen was almost sure that Eleanor Lavellan would have thrown a tantrum so big that the war council would have to revoke their decision to have her tag along with him to find the missing recruits. What he had done to her, he despised himself for it. But, he saw no other option. For the life of him, Cullen never thought he would ever feel an ounce of desire for the Inquisitor. She was too naive, too innocent for him.

Yet, Cullen had slowly found himself becoming amused by the little things she said and did. Eleanor Lavellan was not someone who applied a filter to her words, and certainly was not the type to consider the consequences of her sometimes very irrational actions, stupid even. Somehow, she reminded him of the boy from Honnleath he once knew. That boy is now dead. Cullen had seen too much since then. He had done too many things, unspeakable things that were going to continue to haunt him for the rest of his life. They had broken him, were going to keep on breaking him, whether with memories or through dreams that visited him at night. Eleanor Lavellan might be strong at heart, but she was not going to like it when she finds out that the brave templar she believed him to be was in fact, a monster hiding behind a shiny armour. No, it was better to let her think he had played with her feelings, rather than expose his demons to her. A romance with the Inquisitor was out of the question, Cullen had told himself. He had other things to worry about.

Searching his coat, Cullen’s hands wrapped around the tiny philters he had made sure to place in his pockets the night before. He could almost feel the effects of the glowing blue liquid run through his veins. He let go, and reminded himself he did not need them, not until it was necessary. Not until the dreams became unbearable.

Light had pooled above the clouds. Cullen guided his stallion to the portcullis, and beckoned for the soldiers guarding them to open the gates. It was time to leave, but still the Inquisitor was nowhere to be found. Cullen’s temple twitched, irritated at Eleanor Lavellan’s lack of time consent. He could already see Cassandra making her way towards him, her expression equally surprised at finding no trace of the Inquisitor.

“Where is she?” Cassandra almost demanded, upon reaching him. “Don’t tell me you sent her away.”

“I did no such thing,” Cullen defended himself, annoyed at how often the Seeker seemed to be testing his patience these days. “She is most likely still snoring away in her quarters.”

“I had the servants check,” Cassandra replied, apparently also aware of the Inquisitor’s sleeping habits. “She is not in her quarters.”

“Well, I have not seen her all morning,” he said, stiffly.

The Seeker sighed, “You search the grounds, and I will check the kitchen. We found her there the last time she went missing before an expedition.”

Cullen made his way to the upper courtyard. First he searched the training grounds, then the requisitions tower, and upon no finding no trace of Lavellan, he had entered the tavern as a final attempt before giving up and returning to the portcullis, hoping to the Maker he would find her mounted on her halla waiting. The tavern was empty, as he expected. Just as he was about to walk out, Cullen spied a petite figure slumped on a table at the corner.

Eleanor Lavellan had her face buried in her arms, bent on the table as she snored away. Her long, charcoal hair spilled all across the table top. Five empty jugs surrounded her sleeping head, and it seemed someone had covered a blanket over her as means of protection from the cold. She had obviously gotten drunk the night before. _Typical_ , Cullen thought to himself as he approached her, _trust our Inquisitor to always find new ways to surprise us with her misbehaviours._

Now, he had to wake her up. Cullen looked down, wishing it was Cassandra who had found her instead of him. Hesitantly, he put a hand on her shoulder and gently shook, “Inquisitor…”

She stirred a little, rearranging herself into a more comfortable position and continued her soft snoring.

“Inquisitor,” he shook her again, a little harder this time. “We have to make a move.”

“Mmmm…” she mumbled, eyes still closed. “No more… drinks… Hawke.”

_Of course, Hawke._ _Why wasn’t he surprised?_ Cullen knew they had been spending a fair amount of time together since the battle at Adamant Fortress. With Hawke being close to Varric, who also shared a close friendship with the Inquisitor, it was no surprise that Eleanor Lavellan had bonded well with The Champion while Varric was away hunting down his conniving book publisher. Though, how far their friendship went, Cullen did not know. While Cullen had kept himself busy with the new recruits in the lower courtyard, he would occasionally catch sight of Hawke and the Inquistor making their way up the battlements. Most of the time, she would be seen laughing at something Hawke had just said and also, Cullen could not help but notice that they strolled awfully close together.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen raised his voice. “Your actions are unbefitting of a Herald. I suggest you wake up this instant before your irresponsibility loses us any more time.”

Her long lashes fluttered open, and she let out a long, heavy yawn. Smacking her lips, she peered up at Cullen, registering the figure before her, and upon recognizing him immediately bounced straight up that she almost flew off her seat.

“Commander!...” her eyes grew wide, cheeks flushing a bright red. “What are you… Oh no! The mission… I’m late… and you are here… in the tavern…”

“I see you have made an event out of your night,” Cullen said, coldly. “Ten minutes, or I am leaving without you no matter what the Seeker says.”

He left her with her mouth hanging and marched out of the tavern to inform Cassandra to stop her search for the missing Herald.

True to her word, Eleanor Lavellan emerged at the portcullis a short while later. Cullen watched as she mounted her halla silently, dressed in new robes and her face freshly washed. She cleaned up well, given the short time frame he had allowed her. Her long hair was braided back in a neat bun, exposing the pale skin of her slender neck. Despite her rather reckless behaviours, Eleanor Lavellan was indeed what one would call a Dalish beauty. Her skin was a porcelain white, with mild freckles dotting her cheeks, and her eyes shone a deep green of the forests. She owned a petite, willowy frame, only reaching just below Cullen’s own chin. Though clumsy, she moved with an easy grace one can only learn to master during her younger years.

His hands twitched, remembering where they had been not long ago. He could almost feel her soft skin as the image of his hand slid between her supple thighs. Her cries of delight as he pressed in, her moaning his name… _Oh, Cullen_...

_No_ , he pulled his thoughts back and forced his eyes towards the gates, _No more of this!_

Cullen could tell she was purposely averting her gaze from him. She had barely acknowledged his presence since arriving at the gates, and was now distracting herself by entertaining the guards with courtesies and small talk.

“Oh yes, the Fade,” she had adopted her Herald stance, as the guards admired her like the true Divine they believed her to be. “Scary thing, the Fade. Nothing but green and black, that place is.”

Funny thing that to everyone, Eleanor Lavellan was the young, witty Inquisitor who carried herself with fearless poise in the face of danger. She was their blessing, sent by Andraste to give her life for her people. She was the one who was going to rid the world of evil and save them all. At least, that was what Leliana and Josephine so tirelessly made her out to be. Cullen could only imagine what they might say if they knew that their beloved Inquisitor had almost set fire to the medic tents because she had wanted to roast some s'mores one night.

“We will see you back at Skyhold,” Cassandra had appeared next to them, giving a little bow. “Josephine expects the both of you to be back in a week. However, I think you might be longer than that seeing as the journey alone is in fact, more than a week. Just, don’t take too long.”

Eleanor returned a smile at Cassandra. Cullen only nodded. The Inquisitor moved her Halla to a trot, treating the whole of Skyhold with the bellowing sound of a hundred dying buffaloes, and together, the both of them galloped away into the distance.

 

* * *

 

The dreams were more vivid with each passing night.

_A long corridor stretched before him, a voice echoing from the depths of darkness. Cullen’s legs were heavy, as if bricks were anchoring him down. The weight only increased with each stride he took._

_“Help me…” the faint sound of a girl desperately called out to him._

_Then, he saw her. She was standing at the very end of the corridor, blood dripping from her severed hand. She was staring right at him, weeping uncontrollably. Her eyes were bloodshot, purple veins protruding from her fair complexion._

_“No!” Cullen tried to reach her, but his legs would not move fast enough. “No, don’t you dare leave me!”_

_She glided through the walls, her cries still ringing through his ears. Cullen willed himself to chase her, and with all his might, he bashed through the stone wall with surprising ease. There she was, floating above a body lying in the middle of the floor. The room he had entered was empty, dark and had no windows. The only light was the eerie white glow that shone from the ghost of the girl hovering over her own dead self._

_“What have you done?” the ghost cried._

_“No…” Cullen dropped his shield, and ran towards the body. “Somebody, help!”_

_He fell to his knees, cradling her in his arms. Her bloodied body lay limp, cold and devoid of life. The once beautiful girl it belonged to was now lost to the world. Cullen felt the hot surge of tears fall, trickling onto her pale, blue face as he held her close, begging for her to wake up._

_“You did this,” the ghost of her wept._

_“There were so many of them, I- I could not find you…”_

_“You killed me, Cullen.”_

_“I loved you!”_

_“You let me die.”_

_“No! Farah, please…” he begged._

_The body he held started to fall apart, like cracks travelling through broken glass. A sickening black plague washed over her, scorching her delicate face, turning her to a disgusting grey. Her skin tore itself apart, bits flying away like burnt paper and Cullen watched in horror as the woman he once loved crumbled to ashes before him._

Cullen woke up covered in sweat, his eyes wide with panic. He sat up and surveyed the silent woods that surrounded him. Crickets sang in the dark, but he saw no signs of the ghost girl. Only, the sight of a sleeping Eleanor Lavellan snoring softly next to him.


	8. Conversations

His cries were getting worse. Nora would wake to him thrashing about, brandishing what looked like an imaginary sword at thin air. Some nights, he would scream her name. Not Nora’s, but of another. But, Nora would not speak of it while they resumed travel during the day. Instead, they mostly rode in silence, only ever addressing one another whenever either of them needed a break. It was mostly Nora who tired easily, and Commander Cullen would busy himself searching for dried wood to start a fire while she rested. Nora could have easily conjured up a flame, but she had willingly given Cullen reason to avoid talking to her. Nora rather it be this way. If he did not wish to speak to her, then she did not wish to speak to him either.

Nora did not understand human males. They were a confusing bunch, or was it just the commander who was complicated? Dalish customs dictate that, apart from instances of betrothal, if one were to harbour affections for another, it was only natural to portray one’s feelings as plain as day. If the other were to accept, they would immediately bond within the next few days. It was a mutual understanding as well as an agreement struck between both parties. They would continue to live out their lives in respect for one another, and go through standard processes like sharing a bed together, having children, and dividing out equal responsibilities to provide for the household. There was no such thing as courtship, apart from the male having to go through an initiation to prove himself worthy to the female before the bonding ritual. Normally, this would involve the male elf demonstrating his strength by hunting down a wolf or a bear and presenting the female with a fur coat. Bonding was simple, and straight to the point. There were no games, no fooling around with one another.

They were camped out on a cliff this evening. The sky was bathed in an orange splendor, and Nora hugged her knees close, watching the sun sink below the lands. There was nothing quite so marvelous as the beauty of a sunset, she thought to herself. Even back at Skyhold, she had developed a routine with Hawke where the both of them would hide on the battlements and talk about anything except the Inquisition as the sun went down. Hawke would regale her with his animated renditions of epic battles in Kirkwall, and Nora would listen in intense fervor as he told her stories of Varric, Anders the demon mage, and the mysterious Isabela.

He had also gotten her in trouble by making her down all those pints right before her mission with Cullen.

Hawke had plied her with so many drinks that by the end of the night, Nora had lost all senses and was babbling on about the cause of her dampened mood.

“I mean, he’s sooooooo boring,” Nora had slurred. “And pffftt! What kind of name is Cullen?!”

“No more than a name, I suppose” Hawke answered, chuckling. “Looks like someone had a wee bit too much to drink.”

Nora had lifted her finger, swaying out of balance at the same time while pointing it at Hawke, “You know what he said to me?”

“Something boring is my guess.”

“He said that I will regret it,” she twirled her finger unceremoniously, drawing circles in the air. “Hah! Can you believe that?”

“I’m sorry, Inquisitor. But, you do need to be a little more precise with your explanation,” Hawke had replied, a glint of amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“Regret it ever happened, of course! And now I have to go.. with him… to that place… tomorrow,” Nora exclaimed, almost falling from her chair.

“Alright, you,” Hawke had reached out to grab hold of her to prevent her from dropping to the tavern’s floor.“I think that’s enough drinks for tonight.”

Nora had only murmured something back, her eyelids heavy as she let her face fall to the table for a quick nap.

The shuffling of Commander Cullen’s feet reminded her she was not alone. She caught sight of him from the corner of her eye. He was fiddling around with his pockets, and she spied something blue that glinted back at her. Immediately, she turned around, gaping at what she thought it to be.

“Is that lyrium?” she stared at the blue philter in Cullen’s hand, forgetting her decision to hate him.

“Yes,” he answered, bluntly.

“But, Cassandra said you weren’t taking it anymore because you don’t need it--”

“This is none of your business,” he replied, sharply.

“It is if you are going to keep on screaming at night for the rest of our journey,” she insisted.

Cullen froze, looking like she had just exposed a well-guarded secret. His hand balled up into a fist, wrapping the lyrium philter in its clutches. His expression had turned dark, and he was surveying her as if she knew something he did not. He was sitting on a log not far from her, and had taken off his coat, revealing his broad shoulders covered only by a thin, cotton shirt. Much to her dismay, Nora could not help but appreciate the fine build of a man that he was.

“You heard?” his tone was low, quiet.

“Yes,” she lifted herself off the ground and proceeded towards him to confiscate the philter. “Now, give it to me. You don’t need it.”

He snatched his hand away as she tried to make a grab for the blue liquid, “No.”

“You are not a mage hunter anymore,” she charged at him once more. “Give- It- To- Me!”

A struggle ensued between the both of them. Before Cullen knew it, Nora was clawing at the arm he had lifted in the air, fists still clutching the lyrium. She stretched herself over him, making another grab for his fist, and upon catching it, tried to pry it open with her fingers. His grip was too strong, and he simply pulled away from her.

“Stop doing that!” he ordered, trying to fend her off.

“Not until I’ve thrown that thing away!” Nora made another grab for it, slipped, and fell onto his lap.

Her head was cushioned by his chest, and she found herself staring right down at his… _Oh, Maker_. She could feel a bright red flush surfacing around her cheeks, and she hastily peered up at the bewildered commander. His grip had loosened on the philter as he stared down at her bemused. Now was her chance.

Swiftly, she snatched the philter from him and before he could voice any sort of protest, threw it off the edge of the cliff with a swooping toss. Commander Cullen watched in stupor as the philter flew through the air and disappeared from sight.

“There,” Nora said, pleased with herself for putting an end to his ludicrous behaviour.

She had not realized she was still perched on his lap and Cullen, who was still shocked from what she did, seemed also to have forgotten about the ridiculous position they were in. Their gaze shifted from the edge of the cliff to each other and for some odd reason, they did not move away.

“Why the fuck did you do that?!” his voice thundered, echoing into the horizon. “I need it!”

“No, you don’t!” Nora shouted back. “Frankly, I don’t know much about lyrium, but I do know that the stuff is bad for you. What I did was for your own good.”

“And what do you know of my suffering?” his tone was toxic, sending a little shiver down Nora’s spine. “You are just a silly, spoilt mage.”

“And you are an egoistic, cold-hearted dummy,” she replied, ignoring his accusations. “And you scowl too much!”

The lacking weight of her words would have carried a far heavier message, had she still not perched on his lap.

“I have done nothing but sacrifice myself for the cause of the Inquisition,” he stared at her, incredulously. “Stopping the lyrium was my choice, and now it is my choice to take it if I see it fit!”

“I am telling you now, commander. You will regret it!” Nora would not let him win this time, not again. “Just like how you told me I will regret you!”

She saw his eye twitch a little. Out of anger? Out of discontent? She did not know. But, Nora had already crossed the line. Whatever she spewed at him now, however rash it may be, it did not matter anymore.

“You had no right to treat me the way you did,” she continued, finally pushing herself away from him. She feared that if she were to stay there any longer, she might just lose her courage. “I am no toy for you to play with, commander. Even if I do have feelings for you, _which I don’t anymore_ , the proper thing to do is to spare me more pain and just outright reject me.”

She was kneeling on the floor now, looking up at him. Curious that she always had to put herself in awkward positions in front of him. Cullen was quiet, but did not look away. The steely daggers in his eyes were gone, replaced by a softer, brooding despair.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, his tone no longer stinging. “What I did was wrong. You did nothing to deserve it.”

“Thank you,” Nora replied, trying hard to maintain a clipped voice but failing miserably. “You are forgiven, Commander Cullen.”

His deep hazel eyes searched hers, and upon finding only truth, he relieved himself with an internal sigh.

“I should be the one to thank you for forgiving me so easily,” he admitted. “Rest assured, I will repent on my actions. It was despicable of me to--”

“Oh, do shut up.” Nora rolled her eyes, feeling the heat prickle her cheeks every time she thought of them entangled in one another. “Please do not remind me, or I might fall for you all over again.”

“Right,” he coughed, and then to Nora’s surprise, a faint smile appeared on his lips. Had she not already been kneeling on the ground, she would have fainted herself.

He looked positively dashing as the last light of the setting sun illuminated the side of his face. Nora caught her breath, fearing she had run out of air. Her hand shot up to her cheek in a vain attempt to hide the deepening flush of red that did nothing but expose her adoration for him.

“Sit with me?” he offered, shifting to the side of the log to make enough space for her.

Nora accepted and moved to place herself at his side, fully aware that her whole body was now experiencing an uncontrollable sensation of tingles. It stunned her to see how courteous the commander could be when he was not waging war on her.

“This is nice,” she commented, trying to remain as calm as possible. “See, we don’t have to fight all the time.”

“So long as you don’t throw any more of my lyrium down cliffs,” he replied, only half-joking.

“You have more of those things?!” her eyes travelled to his coat, suspiciously.

“Even if I did, you will never know,” he answered simply.

“Why would you ever want to take it again?”

“It cures the nightmares.”

“Since we are now friends, you have to explain more than that,” Nora replied.

Cullen raised an eyebrow in curiosity, “Oh, are we friends now?”

“Well, I would assume so,” she rubbed at her arm. “We’ve made peace, and I should like it to remain so.”

He studied her for a little bit, assessing her intent before finally conceding. “When a templar chooses to abstain from lyrium, he or she will slowly experience a number of side effects. At first, it will surface as minor memory loss like forgetting where a certain object was placed, or the name of a location. In the long term, one will start to have paranoia, obsession and also dementia.”

“Is that why so many templars go crazy?” Nora could not imagine the commander to ever be susceptive to severe addiction. “Then, I don’t understand why you still take that horrid stuff around with you.”

“My choice to cut off lyrium has not been an easy path,” he was back to his brooding fashion. “The dreams can sometimes become… overwhelming.”

This was the first time the commander had opened himself up to her. It was a little strange for Nora to be allowed permission to a little peek into his life, his thoughts. Maybe he did, in some twisted way, enjoy her company. She did not know yet if he really did, but since they were now friends as she boldly proclaimed them to be, it would not hurt to dig a little more, right?

She decided to try her luck, “Who is Farah?”

He jumped at her sudden mention of the name, “H-how do you…”

“You have been calling out her name the past couple of nights,” she tried to mask the twinge of pain tickling her insides. “Is she someone important in your life?”

Nora knew better than to expect a clear-cut answer from him. She would not be surprised if he did not provide her an answer at all, for that was the commander. Ever so private, ever so devoid of emotions.

His hesitation came as a shock. Nora watched the commander struggle to find his words.

“Once, she was,” he indulged her, though he was not looking at Nora anymore. It was like a haze had swept over him, transporting him to a far away world. “Now she is just another nightmare haunting me.”

“Do you love her?” she could not help knowing.

“I thought I did. Not anymore.”

“Why?”

“For one, she is dead,” he said, grimly.

“Oh.”

He let out a sigh, and ran a hand through his hair. “Enough about me. Tell me about yourself, Inquisitor. Have you always been so… honest about your feelings?”

“It’s Nora,” she reminded him. “And yes, I do not see a point in beating around the bush. It is not a typical custom amongst the Dalish. We prefer a more direct approach. And on that note…”

She stood up, “I have to go into the woods.”

He looked a little confused, “Whatever for?”

“Nature calls, commander,” she announced, unabashedly and proceeded to saunter into the trees bordering the clearing.

“Wait,” he called out. “I should go with you. It is dark and for you to umm… carry on your business alone, it might not be safe.”

“Commander Cullen! I am not letting you stand there while I partake in my private business!” she gasped, horrified at his suggestion. “Do not follow me!”

Dismissing a disturbing thought that she might have fallen for a pervert, Nora picked up her pace and disappeared from his line of sight into the shrubs. She wandered away from the campsite, and upon checking behind her to make sure he was not following, she decided it was safe to go on with her business.

_There, all done_ , she smoothed down her robes and proceeded to make her way back to camp. But the ground gave way all of a sudden, and she found herself shrieking as she plummeted downwards. She let out another yelp when her fall finally ended. The trees had disappeared and only the full moon was plain in sight. She hastily shifted herself around, trying to make out what just happened. Then, she heard footsteps from a distance, and a short while later, Cullen’s head poked out high above her.

“Inquisitor, are you alright?” he called to her.

“I thought I told you not to follow me!” she cried, oblivious to the fact she actually needed his help. “Just go away.”

“Do you plan to be stuck in that nug trap for the rest of the night?” she could tell he was trying to stifle back laughter.

“Your lack of trust to even let me attend to my private matters is very disturbing, Commander Cullen,” Nora replied, obstinately.

“Seeing as I am up here and you are down there, my lack of trust is justified,” he mocked.

Nora grumbled, “Fine. Then I can only conclude that your insistence to keep me from harm’s way can only mean that you do, indeed, actually care for me more than you might think. Either that, or you are a disgusting pervert.”

“I do not… I am simply helping your zero sense of caution.”

“If you did not care for me, you would not have come running.” she proudly claimed from the hole in which she sat.

Cullen sighed, “Honestly, do you always have to speak your mind? Did you not say we were to remain friends?”

“I knew it!”

“On second thought,” he said. “Have a good night, Inquisitor.”

“Oh, just go get the bloody rope!”

And for the first time, Nora heard the commander laugh, “Wait here.”

Not like she had much choice. 


	9. The Beginning

“Inquistor, behind you!”

Nora swirled around and ducked just in time before the Rage demon lashed at her. Staff in hand, she released an energy barrage, knocking it back. Swiftly, she rolled to the side away from reach. Her right ankle throbbed incessantly; a regretful setback that was compromising her agility due to her recent fall into that nug trap. Nursing it back to health was not going to be easy, what with all the constant fighting. Rage was coming right at her, prepared to kill, but not before she set a lighting cage, trapping it in a circular confine.

A battle cry erupted. Commander Cullen charged by her, swinging his sword at Rage. He had every bit the motions of a templar- swift, strong, focused. Supporting him from behind, Nora turned her Archon stave on the demon and sent waves of lighting through the air. It rained down on the demon, paralyzing it. With one last blow, the commander sliced through and ripped it apart.

There was no time to rest, for a Terror demon had emerged from the sands. Its long, spindly exterior had always reminded Nora of a gigantic deformed grasshopper. Above it, the opened rift glowed with fervent. The only way to get close enough to seal it was by passing through Terror. Nora exchanged quick glances with the commander. He knew this too. Terror reached out a mangled claw and charged at her. She ran forward, and just as Terror flayed its tail at her, Nora dropped her body and slid across the sand underneath the mantis’ legs.

“Now!” she shouted.

Cullen leaped in front, and bashed into it with his shield. With Terror occupied, Nora picked herself up and closed in on the rift. Her anchor burned brighter as Nora neared the rift, and a blinding green light burst from her palm at the floating aurora swirl above. Her hand vibrated profusely, shaking and trembling as the anchor’s power poured out of it. Nora could hear Terror screeching from behind as the rift crumpled in, becoming smaller and smaller until finally disappearing with a loud pop, taking Terror along with it.

“That is the last of the rifts,” Cullen retreated his sword back into its scabbard and surveyed the area with caution. “The place where the recruits went missing is not far from here. We should get going before we lose the daylight-- are you seriously looting that thing again?!”

“Well, you never know what we’ll find,” Nora was bent down, picking apart the blob of green goo leftover by the destroyed rift. “Ooooh, rings!”

“You already have five of those in the bag, leave it.”

“But Dorian might want one!” she examined them. “And Varric, and maybe Josie…”

“I fail to see why our ambassador needs a Ring of Flanking,” his arms were folded, unconvinced.

Regardless, Nora had already pocketed them. Picking up her stave, she swung it behind her and winced a little from the pain of her throbbing ankle. At first, she was determined to hide the growing sprain, but it had already formed into an unsightly swell beneath her light mail. The slight limp visible in each step she took made it all the more obvious that she could no longer mask the injury from the commander’s vigilance.

Cullen’s gaze fell to her feet and back up at her. He still wore that same steely face he was famous for, though worry washed his expression. She knew what he was thinking. They were never going to make it to the soldiers at this rate.

“We can,” Nora answered his thoughts. “Like you said, it isn’t far off.”

The Exalted Plains were mostly of decently flat grounds. Save for a few minor slopes and some moss-covered boulders they had to climb through, the lack of severe altitudes was a blessing to Nora’s ankle. Maneuvering their way to the destination would take longer than planned, but staying at one spot would only waste more time. She did not want to increase the chances for the lost soldiers to land the fate of a forgotten demise.What was more concerning was that they knew not of what they would find when they reached. The place could be infested with Venatoris. There could even be a whole camp. Nora was not sure if her injury could take on a merry band of murderous lunatics. If only she had not fallen into that damned hole.

Commander Cullen had already ordered a platoon to head towards the marked destination while Nora and him took on the remaining rifts with three other soldiers. However, by the time they reach the final rift, the party had downsized to just her and Cullen.

“The soldiers should already be there by now,” Cullen said, and proceeded to relieve her of her heavy rucksack. “You should rest at camp. I can go by myself.”

“But camp is all the way back. It will take you ages to reach it,” she knew they could not split up. It was hard enough fighting demons with only one other companion, but to fight demons alone is a death wish. As capable as the commander might be when it comes to battle, he would not stand a chance when faced with a group of those creatures. “Honestly, I’m alright. Lets just go.”

“Inquisitor, you are hurt. If you do not take care of that ankle, the injury will only persist and possibly become worse than it already is,” he had placed their bags on the ground, hastily transferring some weight from her bag over to his. Hers was visibly fatter from all the looting she had been doing. “Maker, how much elfroot do you need?”

“One can never have enough elfroot,” she simply said. “They are quite delicious, I’ll have you know. So many health benefits…”

“Is that why you constantly smell of medicine?”

“Why commander, have you been smelling me?” Nora mockingly batted her eyelashes. Since their little talk, she had adopted a habit of shamelessly teasing him whenever she could. This only annoyed the commander even more, but it was the only way she knew how to suppress her imminent desire for him. “Does the scent of herbs not entice you?”

Besides, she liked watching him fumble for words.

“That was not what I-- that is, your smell is not something I--,” he gave up, grumbling. “Maker’s breath, let us head back to camp, shall we?”

“My answer was clear,” she replied, and started to limp ahead. “We will march on!”

“Inquisitor, I strongly recommend that you receive adequate rest--”

“Oh, halla poo,” she turned around. “If I am not wrong, I am your only chance of survival if we so happen to cross paths with another hidden rift. Now, unless you want to be eaten by demons, I am coming along. Admit it, commander. You need me.”

She had him cornered. The commander sighed, sensing his defeat, “Fine. While I do appreciate your determination to carry on as planned, you do have to stop being so rash in your decisions. I believe this is not the first time I have said this.”

“Duly noted, commander,” she replied, still pleased with herself for having won this round. “If you have no more advices for me, should we get a move on?”

 

* * *

 

Thankfully, the sky was still bright by the time they arrived. As they neared the vicinity, a large cave came into sight. Nora was never a fan of dark and dank places. This one was particularly creepy, and peering in from the outside, she could already tell from the narrow hole that going in was not going to be particularly delightful. Everything about caves terrified her. It was like being trapped in a slimy tunnel with nothing but darkness ahead. Point blank, she hated caves.

True to Cullen’s prediction, the platoon of men he had sent out earlier were already stationed on the outer perimeter. There were no signs of Venetori, yet. There were no signs of the missing recruits either.

“Commander, we found them,” one of the soldiers reported. “I am sorry, ser. Their bodies are in the cave, some scattered nearby. It looks like they were attacked.”

Cullen’s face fell with remorse. “I see. Have the men collect the bodies and bury them. We do not have the manpower to transfer them back to Skyhold. Is that all, soldier?”

“There is something else, ser. We also found red lyrium.”

“Red templars,” Cullen shook his head, looking into the cave. “This must be one of the places where they hide their stash. The recruits must have stumbled upon them while looking for supplies, poor lads.”

He turned to Nora, eyes blazing. “Inquisitor, we have to destroy the red lyrium. It might not make much difference on a grand scale, but I will take any small victory against those red templars whenever I can.”

Nora shuffled around, uncomfortably. “Right, you’re right. Just… give me a moment.”

“Now, Inquisitor. We can’t waste anymore time,” he said, clearly irritated at her hesitation. “What is the matter now?”

“I just need to ready myself,” her eyes were still fixed at the darkness before her. “You go first. I’ll be right behind you.”

“For what exactly?” Cullen followed her gaze and then, realization struck him. He eyed her in amusement, “Do not tell me you are scared of caves.”

“No, no! Absolutely not... no. Don’t be crazy, I love caves! Who wouldn’t like a dark, murky tunnel of horror? Not me! Caves are so… so… cave-y... Well, maybe I don’t exactly like them. But, that doesn’t mean I’m scared of--”

“Come on,” he took hold of her hand and strided forward, pulling a limping Nora along with him. Had she not been so petrified of the black hole looming upon her, the sight of the commander’s hand holding onto hers would have made her swoon like a baby pigeon.

Just as she expected, being inside the cave was as bad as the thought of being inside the cave. Each step she took was forced, her palms moist, fingers strangling her stave as if her only means of protection was going to fly away at any moment. Nora’s grip on the commander tightened as he all but dragged her deeper inside. Soldiers were whizzing pass them, some trooping in, and others carrying out lifeless bodies Nora could not bring herself to look directly at. She tried to tell herself this was not so bad. After all, Cullen was holding her hand.

And then he had let go. They were standing in a wide circular dome, and Nora registered the menacing glow of blood red crystals bigger than a halla jutting out from the stone walls. They would have looked quite pretty if not for the fact that they are cultivated from corpses.

Glancing at Cullen, Nora saw that he looked more than disturbed, almost uneasy as he drew his sword and stepped towards the vile rocks.

“Don’t!” she placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “You should not go near those things.”

He spun around, a grave look settled on him. “That is what you are here for. If it were to taint me, do not hesitate.”

“Are you crazy? I’m not killing you!” she gasped, horrified he would actually propose such an idea.

“You have to,” he sounded so confident, like it was not a big deal. “I would rather a quick death than to slowly die of corruption.”

“Don’t make me do this,” she pleaded. “I can’t…”

She could see a flaming anger dancing in his eyes, as if she were at fault her for succumbing to weakness. But, who could blame her? How was she going to live with herself if it were to come to that? Nora would never, ever harm him. She simply could not.

“It is not an option, Inquisitor,” he offered a half-smile, but his eyes still burned with a determined hatred that Nora knew would not subside until the red lyrium was destroyed. “I will be careful. But if it were to come to that, well, at least you will not have me around to torture you with my lectures anymore.”

“Can’t I do it instead?”

“Are you a warrior or a mage?”

“... Mage.”

“Then you have your answer,” he walked up to the glowing menace and lifted up his sword, readying himself to strike.

Nora had to squint her eyes as his sword came down in a mighty blow. The sound of shattering glass echoed through the cave as the red lyrium disintegrated into a million tiny shards on the floor. The commander stood bent down, hands resting on his knees, sword on the ground. Immediately, she ran to him. The fear she might actually have to fulfill his request swelled inside her, causing a terrible churn in her stomach. Slowly he turned to her, and Nora saw that all that boiling anger had disappeared. Though he looked like the wind had been taken out of him, he was strangely at ease. A sigh of relief escaped his lips and he lifted himself up with a satisfied smile.

“Does this mean I don’t have to…” hope pooled in her voice.

He shook his head. “No, I’m fine,” he assured her. “To be honest, the chances of corruption was low. The only way the red lyrium could turn me is if it were to cut into me or if I were to ingest it. I just wanted you to understand the necessity of stopping such a taint from affecting anyone. It is a serious matter.”

“WHAT?!” her jaw dropped wide open. “You mean to tell me that you were acting all serious before this and forced me to kill you because you wanted to give me a… a life lesson?!”

“When you put it that way, yes I suppose,” he said, as a matter of factly.

“So you tricked me?”

“Not so much tricking as warning,” he paused, thinking about it for a second. “Well, I guess I did, didn’t I?”

Nora did not know whether to slap the life out of him or to cry because she would not have to end him after all. Whatever it was that she felt, the thing she decided to do next was not one of the two choices, and made as much sense as his minor deception.

Flinging her arms around him, Nora embraced a very stunned commander in a tight hug. If the soldiers around them had stopped to gape at the Inquistor’s sudden display of affection for the commander, or if any nudges were shared and mischievous smirks were directed their way, Nora was immune to all of it. However, this feeling was not mutually shared by the commander. He was staring daggers at his recruits, causing them to scurry along with their assignments.

“Umm… Inquisitor,” he stood a little awkwardly and cleared his throat. “While I appreciate the gesture, right now might not be an appropriate time to… for this.”

“Oh, right,” Nora stepped back, a hand touching her blushing cheeks. “Forgive me, commander, for overstepping my boundaries. I really don’t know what came over me.”

To her surprise, he leaned in closer. His voice was low yet soft, lips lifted in a crooked smile.

“Perhaps in a more private space, yes?” he said in hushed tones.

Nora could not believe what she had just heard, and continued not believing it as they made their way out. The last of the recruits had already exited the cave and the remaining bodies of the unlucky souls retrieved. Nora followed behind the commander in silence, completely forgetting about her mild speluncaphobia. Her mind was racing. Dare she ask him what he had meant?

So preoccupied were her thoughts that she failed to notice a strange tip-tappy noise above her, nor did she notice the eerie screech which caused the commander to stop in his tracks. It was not until a big, fat spider lowered itself down on a glistening string of web that Nora snapped out of her daze.

As luck would have it, the entrance of the cave was but roughly ten strides away when the venomous arachnid had landed in front of them, blocking their way out. Another thing Nora absolutely hated was spiders. So, one could only guess that being in a cave with a spider did not sit too well with her.

She screamed, and without a second thought flung out her stave, directing the most damaging spell she could think of at that point. This was all done before the commander could even reach for his hilt. Fortunately, the spider shrivelled up and died instantly. Unfortunately, the energy barrage she released hit not only the spider, but also bounced off the rocky walls of the cave.

A thunderous noise erupted as the stone walls started to break loose. All at once they came crumbling down, forcing both Nora and Cullen to take cover under the commander’s shield. It was not long before the light of the entrance vanished, and they found themselves enveloped in a black abyss.

Nora did not need light to know that the commander was not at all pleased. The raining of rocks had ceased, finally allowing them to emerge from the protection of his shield. Channeling her energy, she illuminated her stave and was greeted by the disapproving frown she had anticipated.

Nora was in no mood for yet another lecture. Certainly not when she was now trapped in a horrid cave she had spent way too long in, “The recruits will be able to get us out, won’t they?”

“Yes, but not any time soon. They will need help from the scouts back at camp and it is almost dark. We will have to spend the night here,” he was definitely not pleased.

“Maybe I can blast the rocks with another--”

“Out of the question.”

There was nowhere to go. Nora sat herself on the cold ground in a huff, equally devastated by the idea of sleeping next to a dead spider.

Cullen sank down beside her, a hand resting on his pommel, “You should get some rest. I will keep watch for the night in case anymore creatures should want to eat us.”

“I could cast a protection ward,” she offered. “Then we can both rest easy. And don’t fret, I will not collapse the cave, I promise.”

Whirling her stave gently, she summoned a circular energy to surround them both. Green light shone from the damp stone floor, sealing the ward around Nora and Cullen.

“That should do the trick,” she smiled, satisfied with her work. “Isn’t it convenient to have a mage with you sometimes? Now you don’t have to stay awake the entire night. I can’t imagine how boring it must be since there is absolutely nothing to do except play with that dead spider.”

“I have grown used to it,” he said, resting his back against the hard walls. “Back when I was a templar, nobody really liked taking the night shifts so I ended up doing most of them. Sleep does not come naturally to me, and night shifts are quieter which I much prefer. Those were the only times I could keep myself preoccupied while gathering my thoughts at the same time. The day provides too many activities for one to consider personal matters.”

“Well, if you are not sleeping, then neither am I,” Nora decided. “Someone has to keep you company.”

“I would like to see you try,” he gave a small laugh. “You’re knocked out cold each night. But, thank you for the offer.”

Nora enjoyed this side of the commander. It was not often that their conversations did not end up in either an argument or with him parenting her regarding something or another. His tough, steely exterior had eased, and he seemed now more of a real person to her than the stoic, authoritative figure the Inquisition’s forces knew him to be.

He was a troubled person, she knew that much. Like he had been through way too much in such a short lifetime for one man to bear. Nora was never one who encountered much hardship. She had never lost anyone she loved before, nor had she made much sacrifices in her life. Joining the Inquisition was probably the first and most selfless thing she had ever done.

“Do you still think of her?” Nora asked, gently. “The woman in your dreams?”

“Not if I tried,” he sighed, running his fingers through his golden hair. “As I once told you, she is but a nightmare.”

“What happened?”

“It was a long time ago. Best to leave it in the past,” he said, offering no more explanation. “Besides, these days I find my mind being taken up by someone else. It it a good thing, though.”

“Oh?” she eyed him. “Is it me?”

“Maker’s breath,” he seemed taken aback. “Must you be so direct?”

“Well, if it isn’t me then I’ll certainly be quite upset…” she frowned, not wanting to entertain the idea of her commander vying for another woman.

“So you _do_ care?” he grinned. It was his turn to tease her.

“Well, I think that is fairly obvious, commander,” she replied, simply. “Best not to ask me to kill you again anytime soon.”

“Inquistor,” he said, a little too quiet. “I must warn you, though. I am not the man you think me to be. You might not want this.”

“I know what I want, Cullen,” Nora felt her heart thumping faster and faster as she said it. It was not like he never knew this all along. She had made her feelings for him clear from the very beginning, though not by choice at first. But he knew. Still, it was not easy to say it again, “If Corypheus wins in the end, we will all be dead anyways. You said you fear dying from corruption more than anything. Well, I fear dying without having loved someone more than anything. So, even if my feelings are unrequited, I’d rather you know.”

“Commander…” she paused, taking a deep breath.  “Cullen… it has always been you. Only you. For as long as I can remember.”

Then, she felt his hand cup her face. He was looking straight at her.

“It is not unrequited,” he said, stroking her cheek.

He pulled her closer, eyes not moving from hers. This time, his touch was softer, gentler. As if he was handling something so fragile and he feared breaking it. Then his lips met hers, ever so light, ever so careful. It was slow, full of desire, like he had broken the shackles holding him down for so long and he was finally free.

When they finally drew apart, all he did was smile.

“You are something else, Eleanor Lavellan,” he said.

Nora’s heart would not steady itself. The dark gloomy cave had vanished, the pain in her ankle was no more. All she could see was the man she had been dreaming of since the Dales, his handsome face, telling her he wanted her too. She could scarcely believe it. “Does this mean you are mine now?”

He laughed and took her hand in his. “Yes, Inquisitor. I am yours.”


	10. Banter

 

“Inquisitor!” Josephine glided to greet them just as Nora’s halla trotted into Skyhold’s grounds. “And the commander! Welcome back. I am so sorry to hear about the recruits and your unfortunate cave in. Leliana told us immediately of the bad news once she received the raven.”

“Of course she did,” the commander halted his steed beside Nora, too tired for manners. “I expect we have a meeting soon?”

“Quite right,” the ambassador replied, ignoring his foul mood. “We are to be at the war room in an hour.”

Cullen did nothing to hide his scowl, which only grew into something worse for as soon as he dismounted, a flock of officers had already begun to crowd around him with reports. Nora watched the weary commander stride off without a second glance at her, officers in tow.

Their journey back, though free of obstacles, had not been easy for the commander. The better days had brought much laughter and sweet kisses. She would lean on his chest between his legs, his arms wrapped around her, and they would talk until the sun went down. Cullen would tell her of his family and his life before joining the Order, and she would share her stories of her time in the Dales and the tales Sylvanne told when she was a little girl. Often enough, Cullen would lift a giggling Nora in the air and spin her round and round until she was dizzy seeing stars. He would watch her twine together garlands of wild flowers by the campfire and wrinkle his nose at her whenever she chewed on her elfroot. Those were good times, and both could not be happier in each other’s company.

But, his screams grew worse with each passing night. Nora was sure he had potentially scared off any danger that might have been lurking near their camps. On the worst nights, she would wake to find him away from his mat. Once, she had found him in a state of trance, mumbling away to himself about abominations in the bushes not far from camp. Some mornings as they packed up for the road, she could tell from his exhaustion that he hadn’t slept at all.

On a promise she made to him, Nora had assured her commander that he need not tell her of his demons until he was ready. After a little tiff, and an immense tantrum Nora pulled which involved her threatening to hit him with the cooking pot, he had reluctantly surrendered the rest of his lyrium phials over to her for “safe-keeping”. A full on argument had ensued once he found out she had left the phials behind at the last camp site. He had deemed her a liar and she had called him an idiot, and the both of them had plunged into a two hour long silent feud.

“My my,” Josephine tutted. “Our commander’s mood never changes, does it.”

Nora offered her a comforting smile as she slid down from her halla and passed it over to a patiently waiting Master Denett, “No rest for the wicked, I suppose. If you will excuse me Josie, I think I am in dire need of a hot bath.”

“Of course, how inconsiderate of me,” Josephine curtsied in apology. “I will see you at the war room then, Inquisitor.”

And with that, she breezed away, scribbling profusely at the board in her hand.

Nora dragged herself to the main hall with only one mission in mind- to dip her legs in soothing warm water. She made it a point to avoid any and all contact with her reflection, for she was sure that her hair must have resembled a glorified bird’s nest by now. Her ankle still throbbed dully, a reminder that she had to pay the healer a visit later.

“Inquisitor!” the familiar voice of the knight enchanter rang across the hall. “Finally, Skyhold misses you. Now if I might steal some of your time, it won’t be long, just a moment.”

She swayed gracefully towards her, paying no mind to Nora’s reluctant stance. “Oh darling, your hair is… quite charming. Looks as if you’ve just survived a hurricane. Should I introduce you to this wonderful hairdresser I know? He is absolutely amazing, dear. Does wonders to even the most devastating of manes.”

“Not everyone can look as lovely as you, Vivienne. I was just about to take a long awaited bath,” Nora refused, politely.

“Darling, you flatter me,” Vivienne waved her slender hand, airily. “Then I will not take up more of your time than what is needed. Come, I will walk you to your quarters.”

“Can I help you with something?” Nora asked, as they breezed pass the visiting nobles gossiping away along the tables lining the sides of the main hall.

“The matter concerns my help as opposed to yours, my dear,” Vivienne graciously said. “It is about your outfit when we visit Halamshiral.”

“Halamshiral?” Nora said, confused. “Isn’t that in two months? I don’t see why this is so urgent now.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t expect you to understand the full importance of an outfit. Not when you seem perfectly happy running around in that silly beige sack all the time,” the knight enchanter cast her a trivial look. “You leave the outfits to me, dear. My intentions were to ask you if you prefer the commander’s outfit to emulate similar colours to your own?”

“What?” Nora recoiled. “Why would you want to ask me that?”

“Well, aren’t the two of you intimate?”

Nora stared at Vivienne, gob-smacked. “How did you…”

“My dear Inquisitor, you should know by now that Skyhold does not keep secrets,” Vivienne only smiled, knowingly. “Plus, I am Orlesian. Gossip finds me like bees to honey.”

“So it’s just gossip, then?”

“If the subject makes gossip, then does it not mean that something did indeed take place for the gossip to transpire?” Vivienne raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “I will leave you to mull over your decision. Maybe you should have a talk with your commander.”

As the knight enchanter floated away, Nora could not help the dawning realization that she had just been tricked cloud over her head. She laughed bitterly to herself, “Oh, he would _love_ that.”

It was not before Nora pushed open her room door that another voice had halted her. This time, a friendly face greeted her, warm and glowing. Nora squealed and gave Varric a big hug, “You’re back! Tell me you’ve found that conniving publisher of yours.”

The dwarf chuckled, “I may have said something along the lines of you casting him into The Fade if he does not return my gold. The poor sod nearly wet his pants.”

“I will pretend I did not hear that,” she giggled. “Come in, we have lots to catch up on.”

“I was just about to make my way to the tavern to meet Hawke,” he replied. “He is leaving for Weisshaupt tomorrow. You should come say goodbye, maybe have a drink or two.”

It took Nora less than a heartbeat to diminish all thoughts of a hot bath, and the both of them made their way out onto the courtyard. Skyhold’s courtyard was in its usual bustling state, no different from when Nora had left it save for a few minor architectural improvements. Kitchen boys were busy wheeling carts of turnips and herbs, Bull’s men had pitched up barrels and were busy betting at cards, healers were tending to the wounded and Cole was hovering above them muttering to himself. Occasionally, some would stop to pay their respects to their Inquisitor and Nora would rehearse the various Herald-like lines Josephine had thought her to wish them well.

The rhythmic marching of training recruits trooped by them in formation, a very worn out commander striding behind with two officers on either side. Cullen had stacks of papers clutched in both hands and was barking out orders at the charges, while trying to maneuver some of his attention to more papers being handed to him by his officers.

Nora caught his eye, and she offered him a pitiful smile. He only cocked an eyebrow at her, and shook his head slightly. She shrugged, knowing full well that he was forbidding her entry into the tavern and, choosing to ignore his protests, hastily continued walking on with Varric. However, this little display did not escape her companion’s attention.

“So, you and Curly,” Varric nudged her. “What’s going on there? Something that happened you want to tell me?”

“Can’t something not happen?” Nora replied, as they pushed through the tavern door. “Honestly, why does everyone assume that I am madly in love with him.”

“Maybe it is because you are,” he chuckled. “Come on, Nora. Give me something to work with here. If I were to write a book about the Inquisition, throwing in a little love story between the pages will give it a bit of spice.”

“Might I propose you write it in a context of the commander falling crazy in love with me instead,” Nora suggested. “I sound a little pathetic if it is the other way round.”

“Hey, I admit I might twist truths all the time. But that seems a little too far from the truth.”

“Oh, for the love of Andraste, must everyone know?” she flung her hands in the air. “Even Vivienne knows. You know she asked me if I wanted matching outfits with the commander?”

“Pray tell, what must everyone know?” Dorian’s perky voice came from beside a grinning Hawke. “Why, hello Inquisitor! Back from your rumble with a certain strapping young templar I see. I must say, that hair-do does not look at all flattering on you. Do fix it.”

“Please don’t join the band,” Nora pleaded, as they took their seats at the table.

“Why, Inquisitor,” he wiggled his mustache, playfully. “If I were in the band, I would be the face of it.”

“That would not be the case if it were Nora’s band,” Hawke teased. “We know who wins that trophy.”

“You guys are the worst,” Nora snatched a mug of ale and buried her face in it.

The Tervinter mage let out a hearty laugh, “Well it isn’t fair that only Varric knows all the juicy details. I do so love the nitty gritty.”

“So, what happened at The Exalted Plains?” Varric pried. “I heard that the both of you were stuck in some shitty cave for a night.”

“Ooooh!” Dorian clapped his hands in delight. “How exciting, it happened in a cave!”

“It is not like that,” Nora tried to convince her little party, only to give up upon registering their unconvinced faces. “Ok fine, yes. He did… reciprocate.”

“I knew it!” Dorian clashed his mug on the table, triumphantly. “Finally, for the longest time I was thinking someone had to claim that gorgeous, sour face. I’m so glad it is you. Time to pay up, Hawke.”

Nora’s mouth hung open, horrified as she watched a defeated Hawke picking out a couple of gold coins and proceeded to drop them onto Dorian’s opened hand. “You guys made a bet on this?!”

“Damn, Inquisitor,” Hawke placed a hand on his heart. “And here I was, having so much hope for the both of us.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Hawke,” a glowing Dorian commented. “Anyone would take a beautifully troubled templar over the Champion of Kirkwall anyday. Our dear Inquisitor has just proved my theory.”

“Dorian!”

Hawke laughed, “Well, then I guess it’s a good thing Isabela doesn’t harbour any fetishes for templars then.”

“Right then, since that bet has passed. I wager three gold coins that he moves into our Inquisitor’s quarters,” Dorian raised his mug.

“What?!”

“I’ll take that bet,” Varric raised his ale to meet Dorian’s with a clink.

“While I’d love to take part,” Hawke chimed in. “I’m afraid I will be absent to collect my payment when I win.”

“Tell me you are not actually making another bet in front of me.”

“Don’t be so sure, Champion,” Dorian drawled on. “Our templar would only be too happy to move away from that dreadful hole in his tower’s ceiling. It is a mystery why he never gets cold.”

“How do you know he has a hole in his ceiling?” Nora enquired.

“Pretend I never said that.”

“Speaking of templars,” Varric muttered, “Don’t look now, but here comes Curly.”

“Oh, void!” Nora hurriedly pushed her mug in the other direction. “Everybody, pretend I wasn’t drinking. If he asks, I was just here for a chat.”

The commander stopped at their table, and nodded curtly at Nora’s companions. “Forgive me for the intrusion, but Inquisitor Lavellan is expected in the war room immediately.”

He averted his attention Nora, a slight frown of disapproval etched across his face, “Inquisitor, you have not been drinking, I hope? We both know how well that ended the last time.”

Hawke snorted, “Yes, too well.”

“No, no!” Nora shook her head furiously. “I was just catching up, no drinks for me. None, nada, zip. Not even a drop of ale from my mug…”

“You... are a terrible liar, Inquisitor,” Dorian pointed out.

“Dorian!”

Nora shot him a hateful glare, and turned to Cullen sheepishly. Not wanting a full on lecture in front of her friends, she hastily stood up, grabbed the commander’s arm and marched out of the tavern in a hurry, leaving behind the sniggers of her gang.

Dutifully avoiding Cullen’s eyes, she willed herself to concentrate on the courtyard’s grass as he walked beside her in amusement, “Inquisitor, you can let go now.”

“Oh, right,” she dropped her grip on him. “And I was not drinking. It was only a sip, two at the most.”

She felt his hand brush gently against her thigh, sending a surge of tingles through her body. “I believe you,” he said, mockingly.

“That was _one_ time,” she insisted. “Unfortunately, it was you who found me like that. And if you continue to do _that_ , I don’t think I will be ever able to concentrate in the meeting.”

He laughed, quietly, “I thought you had meant to take a bath. You haven’t been able to shut up about how much you deserved one a whole hour before we reached Skyhold.”

“Hawke is leaving for Weisshaupt tomorrow. I don’t know if I will ever see him again after today,” Nora explained. “That reminds me, I never actually said goodbye, did I?”

Cullen frowned, “You and Hawke have grown close.”

_Wait, is he jealous? No!_ Nora could not help but grin, “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just an observation, nothing more,” he replied, stiffly.

“He has a lover. Isabela.”

“Oh, good to know.”

“Was that all you wanted to know?” a giggle escaped her lips. “Really, Cullen. If you must ask, I’d rather choose a beautifully troubled templar over the Champion of Kirkwall anyday.”

“I never asked--” he fumbled. “Maker... well, I guess that is good to know too.”

“Aren’t you going to say something romantic back?” she folded her arms, cocking her head to one side.

“Poetry was never my strong suit,” he paused, scanning around to make sure no one was watching before continuing. “But, I would very much like to have you to myself after the meeting.”

Nora’s heart skipped a beat, and she peered up at the commander’s chiselled face. “As you wish, commander. Can’t we just skip the meeting altogether?”

“No.”

“Postpone it then.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Fine.”

 


	11. Addiction

Her lips parted willingly, wet and eager. Long, dark eyelashes fluttered softly as she peered up at him. Waiting, wanting. She wanted him. Cullen stroked her blushing cheek, holding her close. He leaned in to meet her, parting her mouth ever so gently, savouring every bit of her warmth. The Inquisitor’s hands twined around his shoulder, her fingers weaving through his hair. She pressed herself into him, coaxing him to give her more.

He had wanted to take her right then and there, wanted to claim every part of her body for himself. He wanted to tear away the cloth that covered her, and lose himself in her sweet embrace. He knew she would let him, for she was in love. But, he resisted. She deserved more than that. How she found it in herself to forgive him just like that, after what he did, Cullen was not sure if he was worthy enough of such affection.

For all he had done was pushed her away. Time and time again, he had done what he did best, which was to bury his desires. It was a wretched feeling that brought him nothing but pain. It tortured him day and night, drove him mad. He had fought hard against it, and from then on, fighting it was the only way he knew how to live. There were so many things he wanted, but those things came from desire, and he wanted nothing to do with it. And so, he destroyed it all, because he could no longer tell the difference between the good and bad.

So long had his battle with temptation spanned, like never-ending waves destined to crash down on him for all eternity. It was self-control that had kept him going. It was also an ultimatum to his defeat. She was the first thing he let himself have. _A new beginning_ , he had told himself. Cullen did not want to drown in his demons any longer. He did not want to suffer the fate he knew he was doomed to face if he continued on that lonely path to misery.

Cullen was all too sure that she would have walked away after the way he had treated her. The things she did, the words she said. She desired him, and he, her. Giving in to that desire was a terrible thing, and the first time he let himself taste her, all the memories came flooding back. It gushed through him like a sandstorm. The agony, the lies, the deceit. Desire had caused it all. It had fed him misery, and basked in his torment.

Then he had left her. He had chosen to fight it again. He had believed at the time that it was best for the both of them. He had assumed he was protecting her from him and thought that by doing so, she would run and never look back. Still, she stayed. Not only did she stay, but she had stood unbudging like an obstinate mule.

At least he was right about something- that Eleanor Lavellan always got what she wanted. But he now realized that she was no princess. She had seen first hand the haunting dreams that plagued him during the darkest hours. It would only make sense for one to flee the opposite direction, but by some miracle he could not fathom, her affections for him remained unwavered.

Never had Cullen met someone who was so sure of her own desires. As naive and as stubborn as she was, the Inquisitor dominated the one thing Cullen never could master- freedom. Every choice she made, every move she made, it came from the heart without control, without any thoughts of regret. She was like the cold wind floating in the evening sky, a refreshing breeze that brought relief to hot skin under armoured confines.

Cullen shushed her as she opened her mouth to protest his resistance, “In time, Eleanor.”

“You know I want you,” she breathed into his lips.

“And I, you,” he assured her, pecking her lightly on the nose. “And we will, when the time is right.”

Learning to accept the good desire can bring was a new thing for him. It was a slow and painful process he was ready to endure, though for how long, he was not sure. And here was the Inquisitor, ready as ever to hold his hand all the way. Her innocence made her believe she needed him, but if only she knew it was the other way around. Cullen was not prepared to tarnish her purity just yet. She deserved at the very least, that much respect from him.

However, a creeping dread still tugged away deep inside him, unrelenting. He could not help but wonder how long it was going to be until he destroyed her too. _Slowly_ , he had told himself. He feared revealing too much of himself to her, for a new fear had unfolded in him and it was the fear of losing her. No, she need not be burdened with his demons. _That is not her battle, but mine to conquer_. And if she believed that he was the one to make her happy, then so help him Maker, he would do anything in his power for it to remain so. _Even if it meant eventually letting her go._

“Oh, will you quit it with the brooding already?” she brushed her fingers along his stubble. “While the look is quite becoming on you, I much prefer it when you smile.”

She always had a knack for turning serious things… unserious. Sometimes a little too often than necessary.

Cullen let out a short laugh, “It is getting late, you should get some rest. I trust your ankle is healing well?”

“Yes, yes,” she said, dismissively. “Can’t I stay with you for the night?”

“There are still reports waiting on my desk that need attention.”

“But we hardly spend any time together,” she pouted. “As much as I hate to admit it, sometimes I wish we were still stuck in that horrible cave. The only time I ever get to see you for more than five minutes is in war council meetings. I might as well just move in there.”

“We’ve been in The Exalted Plains a long time, Inquisitor. There is much to be done at Skyhold. And, I am afraid I will only disturb your sleep.”

“The only way you can disturb me is if we continue on with this the whole night,” her rosy cheeks blushed furiously as she said it. “If that is the case, I think I should want to be disturbed.”

“You, Inquisitor… are proving to be a huge distraction to my work,” he was only too happy to meet her lips once more, teasing her, tasting her.

Sighing into him, she let him take possession of her. He ran a hand down her slender back, tugging her waist closer. She gasped a little as he deepened the kiss, and allowed him to lift her away from the battlements’ walls.

They would have lost track of time once more had a faint, uncomfortable cough not interrupted the intimate couple. Knight-Captain Rylen shuffled around uneasily as the two of them jumped apart like repelling magnets.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen swore, failing to hide the guilt written all over his face. The Inquisitor herself was now fixated on the ground, as if it were a most interesting specimen. “Rylen… what is the matter?”

Rylen looked as if he was ready to bolt at any second, “Yes… right. Commander, Lady Nightingale has ordered me to give you this.”

He handed Cullen a sealed letter, “She said it was urgent and that I was to pass this on to you immediately.”

Cullen’s eye twitched irritably as he snatched the letter from an awkward Rylen, partly annoyed at the Spymaster’s lack of understanding for daylight, but mostly because his officer had suddenly been made privy to his relationship with the Inquisitor. The last thing he wanted was for gossip to travel all the way to the barracks.

“Is that all?” he snapped, eyeing Rylen like a vicious mabari.

“It is not his fault, commander,” Eleanor put a hand on his shoulder, attempting to calm him down. “anyway, it is not like the whole of Skyhold doesn’t know already.”

“Are you kidding me?” he looked over at her, appalled.

“If it is of any consolation, Dorian and Varric are more than happy for the both of us,” she offered, timidly.

“You told them?!”

“I didn’t tell them. They already knew…” she tried explaining, “It isn’t really telling if I only confirmed it.”

“And you didn’t think to notify me of this?”

“Well, I didn’t want you to bite their heads off,” she said, and upon sensing his rapidly rising blood pressure, hastily tried to convince him by shaking her head, “Please don’t.”

“What are you still doing here,” he barked at Rylen, causing the poor man to apologize profusely and dash away.

Cullen inhaled sharply, and forced himself to regain composure. His lover carefully placed her hands on his chest, and he returned his gaze to find her green eyes filled with worry.

“This won’t change anything, will it?” she seemed to doubt herself as she spoke. “It won’t change us… what we have… right?”

How she concerned herself so much with his feelings for her still amazed Cullen. He relaxed himself once more and wrapped his hands around hers.

“No,” he squeezed her hands gently, relieving her thoughts. “It will not.”

“Good,” she enveloped him in a hug so tight, he was afraid her petite bones might crumble if any more pressure was applied. “Now, what does Leliana want?”

Breaking open the seal, Cullen swiftly scanned the parchment’s contents. It was a short, succinct enough paragraph and upon reaching the last word, he knew the Herald was not going to like what he had to say.

“So?”

He handed her the letter, “I am due for Ferelden in two days.”

 

* * *

 

The pains were growing borderline unbearable that he had to press his head down on his desk. Cullen scrunched his face, attempting to withstand the surge of flames shooting through his blood. Beads of sweat dripped down the sides of his temples as he clenched his fists, trying to block out the monotonous screech ringing in his head, but they only got louder with every sharp breath he forcefully inhaled.

The stack of papers he had previously been studying were strewn on the floor around him. He could not sit up. The agony was excruciating, he felt like his veins were about to explode. His throat was dry, as if parched for a decade. No amount of water could quench his thirst, for only one thing would suffice.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and willed himself to concentrate.

_Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter_ , he silently chanted.

Cullen knew there was only one way to end his insufferable drought, and it was sitting idly in his drawer. He only so much as had to think of it for his pulsating veins to yearn for the wooden box he tucked away from sight.  

_Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of just…_

He did not fail to recognize that he was growing weaker by the day. A time or two, while observing the training recruits, he had all of a sudden felt faint and had to grab on to Rylen to steady himself. If his officer had expressed any concern, Cullen only ever dismissed it as fatigue.

_Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow…_

His head pounded harder, the noise becoming sharper, shrill. It was as if his whole body was working against him, beckoning him to return to the blue. And then, swirls of an image started appearing, wisps of silver smoke forming a vision long gone.

_In their blood the Maker’s will is written._

It lingered at the darkest corner. She was pale, almost transparent and Cullen swore he heard a faint whisper, calling his name.

_It is not real,_ he told himself. _She is not real. Do not speak to her. She is not really there._

She smiled a cold, sinister smile. “But I am, love. Come back to me.”

_She is not real, she is not real, she is not real…_

Cullen watched with wide-eyed horror as she traced her finger down her neck, stopping just above her swelling breasts, “I have been waiting for you.”

“No, be gone creature!”

“Don’t you want this?”

“I said go away, Farah!”

“Don’t you want me?”

It was too much. Cullen lunged at his drawer, pulling it apart. It clattered on the floor and he dropped onto his knees, digging for his cure. He flipped the wooden box open and snatched the glowing blue phial out.

“Yes…” she whispered, hungrily. “Come back to me, my love.”

He popped the cap and was just about to tip its contents into his mouth when another voice called out from above.

“What is going on?” it was soft, comforting, familiar. “Are you alright, Cullen?”

All of a sudden, he released the phial from his grasp and it dropped to the floor with a tiny clang. The phial shattered, lyrium spilling into the ancient cracks. Cullen glanced up and saw that the Inquisitor had poked out her sleepy head from above the ladder.

Earlier on, Eleanor had taken it upon herself to march into his tower and plant herself in his bed, declaring she was not going anywhere for the night. She had been a little more than disappointed once he broke the news of his assigned task to recruit more templars for the Inquisition at Ferelden. In other words, she had thrown a hissy fit about how he never wanted to spend any time with her and threatened to scream bloody murder if he did not let her at least read Varric’s novel in his tower while he studied reports.

“Who were you talking to?” she was starting to make her way down, and as she lifted her foot from the final step, a gasp escaped her lips when she took in the state of Cullen kneeling on the floor, the overturned drawer, and finally, the shattered blue liquid in front of him. “Cullen… you didn’t!”

She rushed to his side, and bent down to wrap her arms around him, “Maker, you’re white as a ghost!”

“No… But almost,” he leaned his throbbing head on her soft breasts. The vision vanished, the noise muted to a low ring.

“Who were you talking to?” she asked again. “Was someone here?”

He shook his head slowly, “It was but another dream.”

“It was her, wasn’t it?” she spoke as if she were in pain.

Cullen fell silent. He did not need pity, least of all from the Inquisitor. Pity was only given to the weak and helpless. And he was not helpless.

He opened his mouth to speak, but only closed it again.

“Hush now,” she stroked his hair, gently. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I don’t deserve you,” the words escaped him.

She levelled herself to meet his eyes, her gaze deep, intense. Her dark hair flowed down her shoulders in tangled locks, stray hairs clinging to her cheeks. She looked a beautiful mess, and Cullen immediately found comfort in her lingering herby scent. _She is real._

“Nonsense,” she simply said, thumbing off his trickling sweat. “Cullen, I love you.”

“I love you too,” he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead onto hers.

_ This, is real. _


	12. Belief

“Looks like King Alistair’s scribe does indeed harbour a certain dislike for his ruler,” Nora chuckled as Leliana finished off the letter from Ferelden’s king.

They had been going at it since morning, slowly processing each pending request addressed to the war council. First, they weeded out the unimportant, however according to Josephine, everything was important. Letters from nobles, supply options, a note from Dorian, and the list goes on. Then came the assignments- deciding who was going to do what and for how long. Today, of all days, was proving to be more difficult than usual. What with the absence of the Inquisition’s commander, a third option has been removed from vote, leaving Nora with the choice of either stealthily planned acts achieved by Leliana’s agents or relying on Josephine’s diplomatic ties to settle matters. 

Though she often did not favour an approach requiring Inquisition troops, Nora had to admit that sometimes, brute force seemed the quickest and most efficient way when it came to solving particularly difficult situations. Like the true commander he was, most of Cullen’s advice revolved around the use of soldiers. As Inquisitor, a joint agreement had been decreed by the war council members to allow Nora the deciding vote for all operations. She had thought that after sitting through a million meetings, a responsibility such as this would only get easier. However, Nora soon realized making decisions that would affect the future of Thedas was never, ever going to be a natural habit.

“To be fair, this does sound so like Alistair,” Leliana smiled, fondly. “He never changes, does he?”

Nora knew the Spymaster was not really asking a question, and did not think to offer her an answer. Sister Leliana hardly ever provided anyone with a genuine smile. Josephine had told Nora that it was not always so. Leliana had once fought faithfully beside King Alistair and the Hero of Ferelden during the fifth Blight. She was a different person back then, Josephine had mused. If it was so, Nora was sure their bonds must have been strong, for the Inquisition’s spymaster only ever smiled like that when she talked of her companions from long ago.

Josephine frowned, “I regret to inform that I will not be participating in this mission as there are no resources I can offer regarding the Venetori.”

 _Great_ , thought Nora. _Now I have no choice but to dispatch Leliana’s agent._

It was not a bad thing. Leliana’s advice to send an agent to discreetly hunt down the Venetori spies was a reasonable enough suggestion indeed. However, being the big girl she was, Nora did not only want just one option. The Inquisition has to expand its influence, and Cullen’s forces would do well to spread the word of the Inquisition’s capability in handling untamable threats such as the Venetori. Nora would rather reserve subterfuge for more sensitive matters.

_See! I CAN think like a grown up! Stupid Cullen, how did he ever come up with the idea that I couldn’t take care of myself? I’ll show him…_

“I think we should wait for the commander’s take on this,” Nora announced, proud of her growing ability at rationalizing. “The Inquisition’s forces might prove useful in extending our reach across Ferelden. We should hear what Commander Cullen has to say about this.””

Leliana only smirked, “As you wish, Inquisitor. After all, we cannot discount the commander’s advices. He is very valuable, to some more than others.”

Nora swore she heard Josephine let out a faint snort. _Were they taking a jape at her?!_ Nora’s face burned a bright burgundy. Well, how could she be surprised if the spymaster was not the first to know of… well, everything. She was pretty sure Leliana has had her under surveillance starting from the very day she took her first step into Haven.

Clearing her throat slightly, Nora willed herself to mask the effect of Leliana’s words on her and continued on, “He is, yes… very valuable indeed.”

_That didn’t sound too right._

Thankfully, the ambassador took pity on Nora’s flushed complexion, “Moving on, there is the matter about our upcoming visit to Halamshiral.”

Josephine ruffled through some papers, and retrieved a delicate golden card Nora guessed could only be the invitation from Grand Duke Gaspard, “I trust everybody is up to speed about the plot against Empress Celene? My concerns now is of more related to matters regarding…” she struggled for more eloquent words, “... upholding behaviours.”

“What do you mean?’

“Well,” the ambassador fiddled with her feather quill, hesitantly. “I must warn you, and I am sure Sister Leliana knows this, Orlesians tend to conduct themselves differently from the people we are used to dealing with in Ferelden. It is all about The Game with them. Status matters. As Inquisitor, you have an advantage at commanding attention from nobles. The invitation from the Grand Duke has already stirred much interest within the court…”

Nora sensed this was not all the diplomat wanted to say. Leliana herself had shifted her attention to the war table’s polished wood. “Go on, Josie.”

Josephine took a deep breath before continuing, “Inquisitor, as your advisor, I am only saying this because you should not be left in the dark regarding a more sensitive issue. I’m afraid inevitable circumstances will cause you to experience some unfavourable impressions amongst the court.”

“Josie, I’m a Free Marcher, and a Dalish,” Nora pointed out. “You will have to be much more direct than that for me to understand.”

“That is exactly my point,” the ambassador tugged uncomfortably at her embroidered sleeve. “You are Dalish, Inquisitor.”

Nora immediately understood Josephine’s sudden hesitancy to give light to the situation, “So, they don’t like me because I’m... an elf?”

“Frankly, yes,” Leliana took over. “To put things in perspective. You are the Inquisitor, but you are also an elf and a mage. Orlais does not look kindly upon elves, more so than Ferelden. What Josephine is trying to say is that you will have to work extra hard at gaining the court’s approval when we are at The Winter Palace.”

She did not want to, but Nora rolled her eyes anyway, “That explains the whole Briala situation. Why does court approval matter so much anyway?”

“We need Orlais’ support if we are to defeat Corypheus,” Leliana explained. “The Empress cannot back the Inquisition if the court disapproves of the Inquisitor herself. It pains me to say this, but your race is a disadvantage. You will need to look and act your best if we are going to win Halamshiral’s heart.”

“And stopping a possible assassination attempt against the Empress is not enough?” Nora sighed, wondering why humans always had to be so difficult to appease. Had she not closed the breach? Had she not almost plummeted to her death after the archdemon had collapsed Adamant Fortress? And after almost plummeting to her death, had she not fought a horrible spider thing and sacrificed the life of a brave warden in order to successfully make it out of the Fade alive? Apparently that was not enough. Now, they wanted her to kiss the nobles’ arses.

“Impressing the court is just as important,” Josephine offered her a comforting smile. “I know all of this is new to you, Inquisitor. But, when in Orlais, we must do as the Orlesians do.”

“Or suffer its wrath,” Leliana could not resist adding.

There was no better time that Nora wished Cullen was present to dismiss all of this nonsense. It was a known fact that the commander detested Orlesian ways, and always thought of its nobles as “disgusting displays of wealth who hide behind their masks while they scheme and plot for no one’s benefit but their own.” That was how he so eloquently put it. Nora knew that if Cullen were standing in the room, he would have launched on a tirade depicting his level of hatred for Orlais’ wealthy population, which was sitting on a close tie with Red Templars. She missed him. _Shouldn’t he be back from Denerim by now? What is taking him so long?_

“Fine,” Nora reluctantly concluded, giving in to the her advisors’ council. “Then I guess you will have to teach me how to be an Orlesian.”

Josephine was only too happy to oblige. Nora was to begin lessons within the week. When she finally dragged her exhausted mind out of the war room, Nora began to make her way to The Herald’s Rest without a second thought. Fresh air, and a pint or two would do her good. As she descended the steps into the courtyard, Nora spied Cassandra deep in concentration with a book she knew to be Swords and Shields in her hands.

She was perched on a bench at her usual spot within the training grounds. Nora briefly considered against approaching the Seeker, but quickly decided there was no harm in asking her exactly when the commander might return his presence to Skyhold. After all, Cassandra was the closest thing to a friend Commander Cullen had. They shared a mutual understanding by exchanging words in various forms of grunts. And, it was Cassandra whom Cullen had first confided in about this decision to stop taking lyrium. Nora figured this was as far as being ‘best friends’ went for the both of them.

“Cassandra?” Nora walked up to the Seeker. “I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time?”

“What?” she grunted, not looking up from her novel.

“I was just curious if you knew when the commander might be back from Denerim?” Nora asked, innocently. Then, hastily added, “You know… war council stuff.”

_That, was terrible._

“He arrived this morning,” the Seeker replied, impassively. “I’m surprised he did not tell you.”

If she was really surprised at all, Nora could not tell from the lack of concern on her face, “No, he did not. Where is he now?”

“In his tower, I suppose,” Cassandra’s eyebrow twitched the same irritable twitch that mirrored Cullen’s. “He said he needed to rest.”

 _Cullen? Rest?_ Nora knew the commander well enough to know the only way he would rest is if he were to be tied down to his bed. Even with that, he would probably make a whole lot of noise anyways. Nora would not be surprised if it were to boil down to her resorting to strip him naked and climb on top of him just to shut him up.

 _Wait, no! You did not just think of that!_ An image of a sexy, naked Cullen popped into her mind. _Great, just great. How am I supposed to be angry at him if he is naked?_

_Stop it!_

Sensing her lingering presence was no longer welcomed by the Seeker, she quickly thanked Cassandra for the information and said her goodbyes. Putting all thoughts of a nice, cold pint out of her mind, Nora proceeded to march towards Cullen’s tower.

She stomped her way furiously up the main steps, then continued stomping pass an amused Varric, and the stomping did not cease as she stomped her way into Solas’ rotunda, throwing the door open to the pathway that led to Cullen’s office.

Stomp!

_How could he not tell me?!_

Stomp!

_The nerve of him!_

Stomp!

_After being away for so long!_

Stomp!

_Was this his way of getting back at me after that fight we had before he left?! That was ages ago, for Maker’s sake!_

Stomp!

“You had better come up with a good explanation for this!” Nora banged her fist on his door. “Open up!”

A faint rustling sound was audible from the opposite end of the barrier. He was in there, but as Nora stood impatiently tapping her foot, the door ceased to welcome her in. She tried turning the knob, but knew better than to expect for it to be unlocked. Trying again, she rapped the door several more times, calling out his name. Still, no answer.

 _Something is not right,_ Nora banged at the door one more time. “Cullen, let me in!”

It was fast becoming clear that the commander was not going to greet her. She was going to have to find her own way in. Nora backtracked, flying across the tower bridge back into Solas’ rotunda and out again, in search of her dwarven friend.

“Varric!’ she panted. “Varric… I need your lockpicks.”

The rogue chuckled, “What are u planning to steal now? Don’t tell me you are still hung up over that piece of cake locked away in the pantry. I’m sure it’s stale by now if Scribbles hasn’t already got to it…”

“It’s not about the cake. I just need them. Now!”

“Why?”

Nora flung her hands in the air, “To get into Cullen’s tower, ok?! Now, give them to me!”

“Trouble in paradise, I take it?” he retrieved two steel picks from his pockets and held it out to her.

Nora snatched them away and turned on her heel, not waiting for anymore insights from the dwarf. She hurried back to Cullen’s tower, almost tripping on the path’s poorly levelled steps along the way. Under Varric’s tutelage, which was mostly held at the tavern, Nora had learnt how to pick a decent lock in case there wasn’t a rogue present in her party during missions. It proved useful when she had wanted to replenish her party’s supplies, just like it was going to be useful for this particular situation.

She inserted the picks into the keyhole, twisting and turning for that satisfying clicking noise of success. Not a moment too soon, the door gave way and without a second thought, she barged in.

“What is the meaning of this?!” she demanded, stepping in. “Why did you not tell me you were--”

Beside a wrecked wooden desk, Cullen was on the floor, knees bent, arms hugging himself tight. He tilted his head up, eyes wide with horror. He did not speak. Nora froze in her steps, taking in the sight of her lover. It took everything in her to tear her gaze away from the man in front of her, and swiftly, she turned around to check that nobody else was behind to witness this too. Hastily, she shut his door and turned the lock.

He was rocking back and forth now, his eyes warily casted on her. He looked terrified. Nora took a cautionary step forward, “Cullen…”

“Get away from me, demon!” he screamed, pushing himself backwards.

“Cullen, it’s me…”

“NO!” he stuck a hand out, as if warning her not to come any closer. “I will not fall prey to anymore of your tricks!”

Nora’s heart fell to the floor. He was looking straight at her, but all recognition was lost. _How long has he been like this?!_

Slowly, she carefully inched herself forward, taking care to make sure he did not scream anymore. All she wanted to do was run and take him in her arms, but she feared if his cries got any louder, someone was bound to hear them and send soldiers rushing in. He is not himself, she tried to channel her thoughts to comforting the distraught commander, “Please, Cullen… it’s me. I am not a demon…”

“You cannot fool me!” he hissed, clenching his teeth, “Play with my mind all you wish, but I will NOT break!”

“No, love,” she kept her voice soft, gentle. “I am here. You are just seeing things, believe me. Just… let me hold you.”

“Fuck off, Farah! You shall haunt me no more!”

“It’s Eleanor,” she tried, desperately. “I am not her. Trust me love, just come to me. I am right here.”

Somewhere between those lines, Nora knew she had said something wrong. Cullen’s face crumpled, as he stared at her with flames in his eyes. With a sharp slick, the commander had pulled out his sword from its scabbard. All the blood drained from her face and Nora could only watch in horror as Cullen aimed it right at her.

“Back away, you filthy mage,” he spat, keeping his sword on point.

Tears welled up in her eyes. Common sense would dictate that she back away and run to find help. But, for some odd reason she could not place, Nora remained still, staring down the end of Cullen’s weapon. Running for help meant exposing all of this, which was not something she was willing to do. Nobody needed to know that the Inquisition’s commander had just pulled a sword on the Inquisitor herself.

He would never hurt her, Nora believed. The templar who had saved her all those years ago would never hurt her, she reminded herself. Now, it was her turn to help him. Holding on to that belief, Nora boldly lifted her trembling hand to touch the weapon’s tip.

“Enough, Cullen,” she whispered softly, reaching out to his sword. “It is all a dream. Nothing but a dream… please love, it is time to wake up.”

A slash. Nora looked down to see tiny drops of blood trickling onto the cold, stone floor. Her blood. Her unmarked palm stinged a crimson red, pooling around a newly made gash, long and straight. Tears dripped from her cheeks, mingling with the steady flow of blood. Her hands were shaking as she closed her palm and turned to the man she loved.

Cullen had released his weapon, letting it fall to the ground. He looked at war with himself. It was as if he was clawing his way out for a safe passage back to reality. There was doubt in his eyes. There was also guilt.

It was a foolish thing, but Nora did it anyway. She brushed away her tears with her good hand, and kneeled down in front of the commander. Looking him straight in the eyes, she took a deep breath, and began again, “Cullen, I am not leaving you. Either you kill me, or you come back to me. But, I will not leave you. Not like this. I love you… Cullen, do you hear me? I love you.”

Clutching his head, Cullen shut his eyes tight. He clenched his teeth, brows furrowed, tense. Nora knew he was trying to fight it, the need for lyrium. When he finally opened his eyes again, it was as if the storm clouds had disappeared, revealing clear skies, “Nora?”

“I’m here, love,” she flung her arms around him, crying tears of joy. “I’m here.”

As she clung on to him, stroking his hair, comforting him, Nora let out a painful, bitter laugh, for this was the first time he had called her that.  


	13. Desire

Cullen shifted to face his Inquisitor. He watched her as she slept, lips parted ever so slightly, small and full. Remnants of the rouge she wore smeared slightly from line. She looked at peace with the world, her breasts rising and falling in a steady rhythm with her soft breaths. She had one hand tucked underneath her head, the other loosely wrapped around her waist. His gaze fell to her palm, now bounded with cloth. A red splotch of blood had seeped through her bandages where the wound was still fresh- a new mark. One he had created.

It was Eleanor who had cleaned his sword, as if it were a most natural thing to wipe away her own blood from the weapon her lover had brandished at her. She did so without a second thought, without judgement, just like all other things she had done for him. Cullen could not decide if she was foolish or crazy when she had expressed that she still wanted to spend the night by his side, even after that whole ordeal.

He hated himself. When Cullen had finally regained his senses and received the full story from Eleanor, he almost threw up. His immediate reaction was none other than to tell her to leave him, that she need not burden herself with his troubles. She vehemently refused, stating that he was simply not himself and if he thought she was walking away from him, well, he thought wrong. She was not going anywhere.

“Have you lost your mind?” he had not wanted to lay a hand on her, for fear he might hurt her again. “Why did you stay? I… I could have killed you.”

She only held onto him tighter, brushing the sweat off his pale face, “Well, then I guess we are both crazy.”

After reluctantly watching her chuck his lyrium box out the window, he had let her lead him up to his bed, let her unfasten his armour and pull the sheets over him. As she lay down next to him and kissed him goodnight, Cullen wondered what in the world had he done right to deserve this woman. She was the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, and as much as Eleanor Lavellan chose to brush it off as mere coincidence, it was fate that gave her that mark on her hand. It was she who had inspired hope in a world gone mad, and it was that hope which made the Inquisition grow into what it was. The naive, Dalish girl had proved herself after all.

And he had to go and fall for her. Cullen did not know if this was the best or worst thing he’s ever done. He was the commander of the Inquisition’s forces. He had a duty to protect the Inquisition and its Inquisitor. But, why was it always the other way around? He would only be subjecting her to a fate that depended on her living in constant fear that one day, he might succumb to madness. And how was he going to protect her when it was he who would have to send her into battle. She was already risking her life by going out there. What right did he have to condemn her to a future with him that could only ever be as certain as the changing winds.

Gently, he swept behind the falling locks that curtained her face. Fate was a funny thing, for Cullen never imagined he would let himself feel so much for another mage. One was enough to terrorize him for all eternity. But, it was not Farah’s fault. It was Desire who had tortured him so, for the demon had made him despise the very thought of Cullen’s former love. It was time he owed his Inquisitor a long overdue explanation, the subject that he had been avoiding as best as he could. Though Eleanor had not pressed him for the truth, it was not fair that she had to deal with his ‘situation’ while being kept in the dark as to what really happened at Kinloch Hold.

Cullen had not wanted to wake her, but he feared he might never be able to tell her if it was not then. Ever so carefully, he stroked her cheek.

“Inquisi-… Eleanor,” he whispered, pecking her lips lightly. “I don’t mean to wake you, but there is something you should know.”

Stirring slightly, Eleanor fluttered her endless eyelashes, sleep still dusting her eyes, “Mmmm… what is it, love? Another nightmare?,” she murmured.

She snuggled closer into him and wrapped her wounded hand around his waist, a long yawn escaping her lips. Cullen propped himself up, and let her shift about until she decided on a comfortable position. He gazed down at his pretty Inquisitor in full adoration, “No, but it is regarding it. I fear I have not been completely honest with you.”

His words seemed to command enough intention for Eleanor to rub the sleep off her eyes. Not removing herself from him, she only peered up to meet his gaze, brows furrowed slightly as concern slowly peaked in her expression, “What about it? Please, no more talk of lyrium. You are never taking that horrible stuff again, do you hear me?”

“This is not about lyrium,” Cullen took a deep breath, readying himself for the story he was about to reveal. “I think it is time I tell you about Farah...”

It was a day like all other days at Kinloch Hold, Ferelden’s regional headquarters for the Circle of Magi. On the first floor, which was also the busiest floor, apprentices shuffled about the hallways in their respective cliques, books in hand as they proceeded from one class to another. Female mages would entertain themselves by gossiping and giggling about a certain someone who had caught their eye, while the males too often boasted about their proficiency in mastering various arts of magic. Senior Enchanters, when not tutoring, occupied themselves mostly behind ancient tomes in the impressive library housed within the Circle.

None paid much notice to the young templar who was regularly stationed on that floor. He might as well have been another drapery, for they only ever took him for invisible, always looking past him without acknowledgement. Occasionally, a slight nod would be directed at him, almost always from a young, timid female apprentice surrounded by her giggling friends. This day was no different, and Cullen only offered an impassive glance at the girl before resuming his placid demeanour, ever constantly on guard for clues that might indicate something gone awry.

So far, during his time at the Circle Tower, there had only ever been one case outside of Harrowings when a mage had gone berserk and stupidly attempted blood magic. It was Cullen who had stopped his idiocy, and the boy was turned tranquil immediately while Cullen had received praise from his commanding officer, Knight-Commander Greagoir. His popularity was fast preceding his reputation amongst the templars stationed within the Circle. Cullen had joined the Order at a much later age than the rest of his brethren, but hard work, determination and a great sum of perseverance had earned him the privilege of taking his final vows together with the other recruits training a longer time than him.

Unbeknownst to Cullen, who at the time, had not a great deal of experience in the department of flirtation, female templars too often concerned themselves with vying for his attention, and Knight-Commander Greagoir too often found himself hounded by requests from Cullen’s female colleagues to be stationed next to the handsome, blonde templar. Even if young Cullen Rutherford had been at all aware of his striking looks affecting the hearts of women around him, he would not have batted an eyelid. Honour and duty to the Order was what he lived for, and the only way a girl was ever going to get him to touch her was if she was a mage attempting at an escape.

That was, until that not so very different day brought a certain curiosity walking through the very hallway he was so routinely assigned to. A curiosity in the form of flowing red hair, almond eyes, and a figure so full, she made it hard for any young man to ignore the beautiful girl swaying her hips pass him, Cullen included. He had not seen her before, for surely he would have recognized her face, and Cullen concluded the girl to be new to the Circle. What was curiouser, was that it had started out as an innocent glance or two whenever she walked by him, which quickly progressed into an awkward Cullen trying to refrain himself from gawking whenever she, interestingly enough, bothered herself with directing a polite smile his way every time she crossed his hallway.

He had heard the other apprentices call her by the name of Farah. Cullen would observe the boys trouble themselves with impressing the lovely girl on a daily basis. One day, it would be flowers conjured from thin air, a silly trick the mage boys often did when courting girls, and the next day, someone else would be offering to carry her books for her. It was also in front of Cullen where countless of invites were extended to her in hopes that the beautiful Farah would agree to join in on their study group. However, she only ever gracefully denied all attempts, instead opting to politely refuse the flowers, insist on carrying her own books, and assure the doting boys that she studied better on her own.

“Really?” Eleanor interrupted, unconcerned with hiding her bitter tone. “She can’t be _that_ pretty. You make it sound like she was handpicked by the Gods!”

“Not as pretty as you are,” he chuckled and gave her forehead a light peck, finding her jealousy oddly endearing.

It was young Farah who was the first to strike a casual conversation with a templar, and his mage and templar admirers alike would only be dismayed if they knew, that it was Cullen she had chosen to chat with one faithful morning. It took place during breakfast while the hallway was at its emptiest, apart from after curfew hours when all mage apprentices were required to return to their sleeping quarters. Instead of her routine habit of disarming Cullen with a lingering smile while she walked by, she had startled the templar by stopping right in front of him, books hugged to her breasts. On this morning, she was unaccompanied by her usual posse of girls who had taken it upon themselves to crowd around her for want of a fraction of the limelight.

She was not shy like all the other female mages, nor was she complimentary like his templar colleagues. Instead, she had looked straight at him and with a smile so confident, she spoke, “Pray tell me your name, ser. For it is certain that you already know mine.”

Naturally, unused to being confronted with the wit and charm of a pretty girl, let alone a mage he was not suppose to be speaking to, Cullen all too easily floundered in her presence. When he did not speak, she only raised a perfect eyebrow and continued, “Are you so above a lowly mage that you will not entertain a conversation with her?”

Her question only caused a series of stammering from poor Cullen, “N-no! No… my lady. I would never… no… you are not a mage… I mean, that is… a lowly one…”

He had wanted to disappear into the walls out of sheer embarrassment. He was sure all that stuttering would be enough to create a massive, awkward void between them and she was surely to walk away and resort to never looking at him again. But, the fair mage only maintained her stunning smile and masked a chuckle behind her palm.

“Do I get a name then, ser?” she had asked once more.

“Cullen,” he indulged her, his thoughts still in a disarray.

“A handsome name,” she declared. “Like its owner.”

If his face was burning, Cullen did not notice. The sight of the girl he had too long let his eyes wander on, who was now paying him attention, was too much for a young, inexperienced boy to handle. Sure, there had been other instances when the girls in his village had whispered to his sister, Mia, of their crush on her brother, but Cullen had been far too adolescent to pay them any mind. It was different when he was now almost a man with raging hormones, and had the prettiest girl in the Circle Tower flirting with him.

“We should not be seen talking,” duty got the better of him, and he silently cursed inside his head.

“There is no harm in an apprentice seeking the advice of a templar about something or another, is there?” her lips lifted into a cheeky grin, as she innocently widened her almond eyes. “It could possibly be about me considering escaping this dreadful place, and you could possibly be advising me against such an irrational action.”

“Are you escaping?” alarm bells rang, forcing Cullen to ready himself for such a threat just like he was taught during templar training.

“Oh, Maker no,” she calmly said. “Why, if I were to leave this place, I wouldn’t ever be able to see you again, would I?”

His stuttering resumed, “I… I really don’t think… well… no.”

“Quite right, Cullen,” she winked, the striking smile still playing at her lips. “Now, lest anyone should catch me distracting you from your duties, I should go before breakfast is over.”

Before taking her leave, she had turned her head back to him with that signature grin, “Another time then, Cullen.”

And so it was that routine smiles turned into routine chats. Every morning while the majority of Kinloch Hold was held up with breakfast, Farah would sneak away to visit Cullen at his usual station, and the both of them would steal a short conversation with one another. Soon enough, he had learnt she was of noble birth, which explained her easy elegance, and that all her titles and holdings were forfeited to her younger sister once her family had finally given her over to the Circle, after years of hiding her magic from the world. If it wasn’t for an inconvenient consequence that befell a potential suitor of hers, she would still be happily living out her life in her castle.

“Let’s just say he now lacks a prominent ability to produce heirs,” she did not seem at all like she regretted what she had done. “I didn’t like him very much anyway. Too soft around the edges, unlike you.”

Farah never bothered to hide her growing fondness for Cullen, though he could never bring himself to do the same. After all, romantic relationships between templars and mages were strictly forbidden. During all other hours of the day, while the hallways experienced its usual traffic of students, Farah would always address him with a polite nod and a coy smile, whereas Cullen only restricted himself to a lingering glance at the object of his affection.

One fine day, while their usual breakfast conversation was coming to an end, Farah had planted a kiss on his cheek before taking her leave. A speechless Cullen had spent some time trying to regain his posture and make sure nobody had caught them before forcing himself to focus on his station throughout the day, which proved to be very hard indeed for a lovestruck boy. What started out as a kiss on the cheek, grew into more kisses at other parts of the body. This no longer took place in the hallway where it had all began, for stealing the heart of a templar brought along many other privileges for a mage. One such privilege being Farah let out of her sleeping quarters by Cullen whenever he was assigned to night time supervision, and the two of them would spend hours locked away behind the shelves of the Circle’s library.

It was among ancient books that Cullen first explored a woman’s body. Though, Farah was not inexperienced to the touch of a male. She knew just how to tease and entice him with every move she made. Kisses transpired into more than that, and soon enough, Cullen had her robes in a pile on the floor as she straddled him between her legs. She would take him in her mouth and beckon him to surrender himself in her sweet pleasure, never ceasing her sucking and licking until he gave her his release. She had bewitched him, and Cullen had willingly let himself fall for the gorgeous mage.

It was a miracle nobody ever found out about their affair. However, a rumour had surfaced that the library was haunted, for both mages and templars would swear to hearing the cries of a girl coming from within during the darkest of hours. The couple then moved their meetings to the basement, which was less agreeable seeing as it was a repository for dangerous artifacts and ‘doing it’ amongst the phylacteries was not at all appealing, but it secured their moans of pleasure from being heard anymore. The rumour soon died out.

“Oh Cullen, I love you” she would cry out in delight as he thrusted into her. “Take me, all of me.”

And he would tell her he loved her too, for surely a boy his age could be forgiven for mistaking lust for love. She was his first for everything- first crush, first kiss, first love. And, she was a beautiful girl who was more than willing to take her clothes off for him. How could he refuse? Cullen was smitten.

For a time, the couple continued on with their forbidden relationship. Farah and Cullen continued to experience popularity amongst their peers in their own respect, and the both of them continued rejecting pursuits from each of their admirers- Farah from her fellow apprentices, and Cullen from his templar colleagues. They took care to maintain secrecy in all matters regarding their intimacy, for a romance between a noble mage and an exemplary templar would stir such scandal.

Words would not be exchanged unless they were alone, and if someone should catch the two talking, the subject would quickly switch to one or the other expressing concerns regarding a Harrowing. Throughout the course of a day, a touch or two would be stolen when Farah would conveniently busy herself searching for a tome at the farthest corner bookshelf while Cullen made his rounds about the library.

It was a perfect story of boy meets girl, twisted fates, and forbidden love. A story so innocent and full of hope. It would have continued so if not for a horrible event that changed Kinloch Hold forever. The day Senior Enchanter Uldred had attempted to summon a Pride demon was the day their story had come to a devastating end.

The Circle was thrown into chaos and despair. Blood mages ran about amok, killing everyone in sight. Young apprentices fell one by one, either to death or by succumbing to the temptations of dark magic. The templars were in a disarray, and saving the mages became nearly impossible when a larger threat reared its ugly head in the Harrowing Chamber. Uldred had transformed into an abomination. Soon enough, even the templars fell.

“We have to seal the floor!” Knight Commander Greagoir was the one to make the dreadful decision. “We have no other choice. Templars, evacuate the Circle immediately!”

But Cullen was not yet ready to leave, for a certain someone was missing and he had not seen her since the turmoil began. Against the Knight Commander’s orders, Cullen had scurried through the upper levels, in search of his beloved. Two of his brothers had stayed behind to help save the remaining mages, but as they made their way from room to room, the blood mages only multiplied. It was becoming evident that the young apprentices were not beyond the practice of slicing their wrists in a desperate attempt to preserve their lives. One by one, they lost themselves to the clutches of blood magic.

The screams grew louder. Both templars and mages were being dragged up to the Harrowing Chamber, and Cullen could only hide as his two brothers fell victim to the cruel act. When he finally reached the corridor of the apprentice sleeping quarters, there was only eerie silence. He could not give up, he had to find her. So, he had searched and searched, praying for her to be alive.

Cullen did eventually find Farah in the end, and she was still breathing. Though, she was not the same Farah anymore. This was also the day she had broke his heart. Cullen had heard his own horrifying scream when he saw the blood gushing from her wrist. She was on the floor, gasping for air, and when her eyes met his, there was nothing but a pool of emptiness.

“No!” he had held her in his arms. “Farah…”

“You… came…” blood spluttered from the lips he once kissed. “I-I thought… you… had left…”

“I would never leave you,” he was too late, and Cullen knew what could only come next. “Why did you do it, Farah? Why?!”

“Please…it hurts,” her voice was waning, eyes lulling to an eternal sleep. “Cu-Cullen… end me…”

No man should ever have to kill the one he loved. It was vile, a cruel joke. This was the fate of Cullen. His lover’s vain attempt at blood magic had failed, and if he did not do as he should, she would only turn into something worse than death. This, was the fate of his fair Farah.

His sobs were filled with pain, brimming with sorrow as the trembling templar reached for the hilt of his sword. She was barely breathing anymore, her pulse growing slower by the second. The way he had lifted his sword, it was as if the laws of the universe did not permit such a thing. The girl was too weak to speak, and another stream of blood spluttered out, dribbling down her chin and the sides of her once rosy cheeks. He could not look at her, and so he closed his eyes, his tears unstoppable. And then, he had pressed the tip of his sword into Farah’s chest.

Cullen clutched her listless hand to his face, kissing it one last time while he felt his heart slowly die along with her.

While mourning the loss of his beloved, Cullen had not noticed the flicker of a tail fleet by him. He was still on his knees when a great whip had lashed at him, sending Cullen flying across the room. With no weapon on him, Cullen was helpless to the Desire demon hovering above his lover’s body.

“Poor thing,” the demon had cracked a revolting smile. “A shame really, she was a pretty one.”

It swooped right in front of him, “My, my, and we have a live one. Handsome too. Surely, she was his. This is going to be fun.”

Dealing Cullen a quick death would have been too easy, and it was what he had wished. But, an act of mercy such as that would never be given from a demon of Desire. It had other plans for its captive. So, Desire had kept him for itself, and Cullen powerlessly watched his lover’s body dragged away from sight in the prison the demon had caged him in.

The torture was endless, until Cullen could no longer tell the time and day. Or was it weeks? Years? The games did not cease. Desire would play with his sanity, tempting him with what he wanted most. One moment, Farah would be by his side, alive and well, trailing kisses down his neck. The next, she would burst into flames and fall to ashes on the floor. Countless of times, Desire would lure him to surrender with visions of the girl he loved, but Cullen only resisted again and again. He had fought with every fiber of strength he had left, because he knew deep down that his Farah was no longer in this world. He had watched her die. After she had begged, it was he who had ended her life.

When the Hero of Ferelden had released him from his prison, the young templar Cullen once knew himself to be had died along with his first love in Kinloch Hold. His love for Farah had festered into hatred, and he blamed her just like he blamed all mages for being so weak to succumb to the clutches of blood magic. Whatever trust and respect he once had for mages was then obliterated, and thus began Cullen’s abhorrence for the Circle and all its inhabitants.

“I was transferred to Greenfell shortly after that, before Meredith conscripted me into Kirkwall’s Order. The way I saw mages then, I’m not sure I would ever care for you,” Cullen brushed his Inquisitor’s lips with his thumb. “But I do, and all you got out of this is hurt. I’ve done some horrible things, Eleanor. And, I will carry that weight with me forever.”

“Don’t say that,” Eleanor caught his wrist and nuzzled her cheek in his palm. “You are a good man, Cullen. What happened in the past is what it is, the past. I love you, no matter what you have done. I don’t care, I just want to be with you.”

“Could you ever love someone who has done your kind grave injustice?” it pained him to speak of his crimes, but she needed to know the type of man he was. “I have turned countless of mages tranquil for no just reason. I have struck down so many who dared so much as utter defiance to my judgement. I treated them like they were a disease that needed to be purged. Tell me, could you, a mage, love someone like that?”

The Inquisitor did not speak, and moved to sit on his lap, facing him. Cullen felt her soft hands cupping his face. She leaned in and planted her lips on his, gently deepening the kiss until he had his arms around her, rough hands travelling down her back, caressing her bottom. Her perk breasts pressed into his chest, while he trailed his touch to coax her thighs wider. She complied, and grazed herself against his groin, letting him feel her.

A moan escaped him as she broke from his lips to leave a path of kisses along his jawline, her fingers running through his hair, all the while moving herself against him, hardening him. Pulling at the strings of her robes, he let the fabric fall from her shoulders, revealing the curve of her almost naked breasts.

“Does this answer your question, commander?” she breathed, coming up to brush her lips on his. “Because frankly, I really don’t care what you were.”

She gave a little shrug, and the robes fell, pooling around her waist. The sight of her bare skin was enough to make Cullen think every other matter trivial. With one swift motion, he had her pinned on the sheets beneath him. In that moment as he looked down at his Inquisitor, naked underneath him, he cared not for anything or anyone else.

Wrapping her legs around his waist, she whispered, “So, Commander Cullen. Will you have me?”


	14. Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do think the title is warning enough. This chapter was super hard(excuse the pun) but I thoroughly enjoyed the challenges that came with writing it :) 
> 
> Alright then, let the smut begin!

“So, Commander Cullen. Will you have me?” she dared to ask him, twisting her feet around his waist as she lay underneath his solid figure.

Nora had never bared her body for any man before. It was all so new to her that she had not thought she would ever be this brave when it came to a more… carnal type of love. But this was Cullen, her Cullen. The intensity of his gaze on her was enough to make Nora quiver at all the right places. He scanned her face, moving down to her breasts and then on her scrunched up robes covering a most intimate part of her.

But, he had not touched her. His hesitance only wound her up even more that she had to stop herself from squirming. A dull ache began to throb between her thighs. Every part of her yearned for him, yearned to lose herself in his sweet embrace. The ache inside throbbed harder; a heady concoction mixed with his heated gaze- it was unbearable. She grabbed the back of his neck and tried to pull him down to her, but he only resisted.

“Are you sure you want this?” Cullen locked his eyes on hers.

“You can’t be serious,” Nora tipped her head up in disbelief. “Unbelievable! Are we really having this conversation right now?”

Gently, the commander pinched her chin between his fingers. “I do not want to do anything you do not want me to do,” he said, though his actions spoke otherwise as he let his touch trail down her throat and along her collarbone. So distracting.

She tingled a delightful tingle all over. “Cullen, look at me. For Maker’s sake, I am lying here, almost fully naked under you. Do I look like I don’t want this?”

“You look splendid,” he flashed that irresistible lop-sided smile Nora liked so much and she blushed a little at his compliment. “But I am sure you have heard this before.”

“To be honest, I’ve never actually been with a man before,” her cheeks burned. She did not know why it felt so embarrassing admitting it. “You are the first.”

“What?” Cullen pulled back, a little stunned. “You mean to tell me that before us, there has not been even one other man?”

“No.”

“Not even a kiss?”

“No.”

“Surely there were pursuits?”

“Just you.”

“So that day in my tower… that was your first kiss?” a troubled frown appeared and he smacked a hand onto his forehead. “Maker… what have I done. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never asked,” she crossed her arms, looking up at him. “Is it such a big deal that I am inexperienced in these things? I just, well… I never got around to fancying anyone else I guess.”

It was not like Nora had not caught the attention of the young Dalish men in her clan. There had been a few attempts before, but Nora decided that Cullen need not know she had turned down every offer to bond with a nice male elf, all because of a wishful dream that she would one day meet her gallant templar again. Fate really was an odd thing indeed, or could the Gods have planned it all along? Was Nora destined only for this man? Just then, it certainly seemed that way to her.

She frowned, “Is this a problem for you?”

Amusement sparked in his eyes and he seemed to contemplate the situation for a few moments before her dashing commander broke into a venerated smile. He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, lightly running his thumbnail along her temple, “No, not at all. In fact, it is perfect. You are perfect.”

Warm lips hovered over her ear, shooting a shiver of delight all the way down to her toes. And then he whispered, “Just relax, love. This time, I will treat you right.”

At once, his mouth met hers, a hand circling under her arms, lifting her up closer, palm grazing her breasts. Another hand moved in momentum, sliding up her thighs to rest on her bottom, giving it a tight squeeze- _Oh!_ He nipped at her lips, beckoning for them to part. His tongue swept into her and tangled with hers, and she tasted him- _so sweet, so very delicious_ \- and she let him take her breath away.

He caught a nipple and she gasped in surprise. His strokes moved to her inner thighs, under the fabric, making his way up. Her heart pounded like a beating drum, coursing heat throughout her body, making her dizzy. Swiftly, he yanked her robes free and tossed it aside, and his hand found the inside of her thighs once more, stroking, kneading, tantalizing. She trembled, unable to stop the slow, sultry ache spreading through her belly, or the slick moisture settling between her thighs.

Breaking from her lips, he nuzzled her neck behind her ear, his breath hot and heavy, sending shivers down her spine.

“You are gloriously wet, Inquisitor,” he whispered, as his teeth grazed her earlobe.

“Are you going to do something about it, commander?” she murmured breathlessly, tilting her head to give him way to her throat.

He ran his nose down her neck, brushing the tip of a breast. Letting his hand remain wrapped around her, he caressed another breast, his fingers circling lazily around the tip.

“Gladly,” he nipped at her nipple, and she moaned. “Let me take care of you.”

All at once, she felt his tongue whirling, his teeth nibbling, his lips sucking, fingers pinching. He parted her knees and his hand skimmed up, up until he reached the summit. Her cries of delight filled the still air as he stroked her slick, wet sex, flicking the nub, back and forth, back and forth. The pleasure was so excruciatingly glorious, so intense, euphoric. She was enraptured, tipping her head back, closing her eyes, surrendering herself to his relentless touch. _Oh, Maker…_ she never wanted it to end.

His tongue travelled down, circling her navel as his hands and his thumb- _his wicked thumb_ \- “Ah!” she cried out as he pushed one inside her. The other rested on her folds, slowly, agonizingly circling around and around.

It was almost unbearable. Her back arched off the bed as she writhed beneath his touch. “Oh, Cullen, please...” she moaned, and she felt his smile as he marked his kisses below her belly, going further, further down.

The sudden lick of his hot, slick tongue was enough for her to lose her sanity. Her lips formed a perfect O, her hands desperately pulling at the bed sheets, wrapping them around her knuckles tight as he tasted her sex, slowly swirling around and around, flicking up and down. The elation was maddening. His thumb rocked mercilessly inside of her, shooting sharp coils of heat through her like endless flaming arrows, sending her mind reeling, intoxicated.

“Cullen, I can’t!” she quickened, panting recklessly, feeling like she was about to explode.

Suddenly he stopped, startling her, and rose from the bed to take his clothes off. She blinked as his breeches vanished, and drank in the bare, solid muscles staring back at her, beautifully rugged. Her eyes travelled down, down- _So, so hard… oh, my!_ He was breathtaking. He positioned himself on top of her once more and pushed her legs open wider, lifting them up and placing them over his shoulders.

“Ready, love?” he kissed her ankle.

She nodded, eager to let him take her everything, because she needed to feel all of him.

“I want you so badly,” he said, and very slowly, exquisitely, he sank into her.

She gasped, wrapping her hands around his neck, threading her fingers through his thick, sandy hair as he moved in and out, filling her with an urgent need. The pain was sublime, and she was entranced. She groaned when he quickened his pace, pushing in harder, _harder_. Her mind was racing, she could not think, could not speak of anything else except to call out his name over and over again as he claimed all of her for himself.

She tilted her hips up, and their bodies melded together as one. Wet lips took hold of hers, reducing her cries to pants as she tasted his tongue and its lush, hungry assault . Her toes curled, tense, thighs quivering uncontrollably as he thrusted deeper into her. Stretching her. Pumping deep inside her in a grinding, full-bodied rhythm.

“Oh, Cullen!” she dug her fingers into the nape of his neck, clutching tightly.

“That’s right, love,” his voice was low, seductive, breath hot against her neck. “Just like that.”

“More…” she whimpered, insatiated. “Give me more.”

He groaned and flipped her around, pulling up her waist so she was on all fours. He pushed her shoulders down onto the sheets and ran his hands back to take hold of her bottom. “Oh!” she cried when he spanked the cheek of her butt and immediately took her from behind, filling her to the brim once again.

He was hard and thick, rocking in and out, in and out, giving no mercy. His hand slipped under her belly and found her dripping sex, and he pressed two fingers down, rubbing her, teasing her, playing with her.

“Cullen… Cullen!” she moaned again and again, relishing in his control over her.

She felt her insides burning, tensing, tightening. A rush of pure bliss coursed through her, blocking all thoughts and reason. His pace grew faster, faster, and she could feel the thickness of him tighten along with her. All at once, she let go with a mind-numbing cry of pleasure, spiralling out of control as he released himself in her.

Sinking back onto the sheets, she curled up into a quivering ball, cheeks flushed. Cullen dropped beside her, his breaths ragged, and she turned to bury her face in his bare chest, trying to catch her own breath. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close, gently stroking her hair. They stayed that way in silence for some time, and only when the pounding of her heart had started to calm down did she peer up at her handsome commander.

“Are you alright?” he asked, a glint of worry flickering in those gorgeous hazel eyes. It was as if he feared he had somehow hurt her. “Was that too much for you?”

“That was… amazing.” she sighed happily, glowing all over.

He smiled, relieved, and lightly kissed her forehead, “You were amazing.”

“Cullen?”

“Mmmm?”

“Can we do it again?”

 

* * *

 

A long yawn escaped Nora’s lips, echoing across the desk, alerting her tutor of her student’s dwindling attention. Her back was already slumped against the chair, and for the past hour, none of the ambassador’s teachings had registered in her mind. The last thing Nora remembered was Josie demonstrating the proper method for slicing a deep mushroom gateaux.

Josephine frowned and let out an audible sigh, “Inquisitor, please. There is little time left and we have to prepare you for the Winter Palace court.”

Agreeing to etiquette lessons from Josephine had been a mistake on Nora’s part, and she was fast regretting her decision. Conducting their session in her personal quarters did nothing to help her weariness of listening to the Antivan diplomat at all, and Nora too often found her eyes wandering to her bed.

“Sorry, Josie,” Nora said apologetically, gazing wistfully at the neatly tucked sheets of her Free Marcher bed. “I’m just tired, that’s all. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

She couldn’t very well tell the ambassador that her lack of sleep was accosted to ‘activities’ that she and the commander had engaged themselves with for the entirety of the night before. By the time Commander Cullen had finished ravaging her body in so many positions Nora lost count, dawn had arrived at Skyhold and soldiers could be heard going about their morning routine.

Her eyelids felt heavy, and Nora fought to keep them open when what she had wished for- since Josephine had sat herself across the study- was to drop her face on the plush pillows of her vacant bed and retire to a few hours of undisturbed sleep. Though, being disturbed by Cullen wouldn’t be too bad. An image of the commander popped into her head and Nora found herself imagining the painfully exquisite things he would do if he had her wrists strapped to those wooden poles of her bedframe.

And his hands- _Oh, those wicked hands_ \- they knew just where to touch, knew just how to tease and pry every gratifying moan of pleasure from her lips. He had held her helpless in his sweet, heavenly embrace, bringing her to blissful climax over and over again.

Never could she imagine that sleeping with a man would be this satisfying. Then again, she had not wanted a man as much as she had wanted the commander. Even so, do all men behave this primal when bedding a woman? Or was it just human males? Not that she was complaining. She could hardly believe any of the Lavellan clan males to possess the ability to ravish her so completely as Cullen did. _Poor Alras_ , she thought of the Dalish boy who once almost succeeded in convincing her to bond with him and thanked the Gods she had refused him in the end, choosing instead to follow her heart. Maker forbid, if she had accepted his offer, she wouldn’t have known such otherworldly sensations that only Cullen could make her feel.

_Void_ , how was she to concentrate when thoughts of Cullen’s warm, wet lips invaded her mind like a welcoming infection, “Could we possibly continue with this at a later date, Josie?”

Josephine sighed defeatedly, “Well, I guess we should conclude for the day. Anyways, it is almost time for your next appointment.”

Nora furrowed her brows in confusion, “What appointment? I don’t recall there being a war council meeting today.”

“Aren’t you deciding on your attire for Halamshiral?”

Of course, Nora’s head fell on her knuckles, elbow on her desk, and she rubbed at her temple furiously. Vivienne, she should have guessed. “And where exactly is this appointment?”

As if on cue, a sharp knock sounded at the door and the knight enchanter floated up the narrow stairs carrying a heavy stack of blueprint sized papers. Paying no mind to her uninformed arrival, Vivienne breezed over to the study and dropped the massive stack on Nora’s desk.

Nora glanced at the pile of papers set in front of her. They were sketches of garments with bits of fabric swatches stuck to the sides. Vivienne leafed through the drawings and pulled out some sheets, lining them side by side.

“Darling, I have taken the liberty of narrowing down your options to these designs,” Vivienne began, as if Nora had been expecting her all along. “Now we must decide on the winner. I say we go with something that best represents the message we wish to portray at court.”

The sketches Vivienne had laid out depicted three very different formal attires. The first one was a drawing of a figure-hugging silhouette made of green satin with a plunging neckline. Next to it was a decorated light mail sketch, featuring dragon bone and rich woolen cloth. The last one was a very ornate and austere piece in luxurious red velveteen, complete with gold thread linings.

Before Nora could speak, another knock came from the door and all but an expectant Vivienne looked up to see Commander Cullen striding up the steps two at a time. He looked just as clueless as Nora as he approached the three women crowding around the study. Nora met his gaze and felt her cheeks reddening. The corners of his lips twitched up slightly, just enough to let her know that he was glad to see her. She wanted to jump from her seat into his arms, but company prevented it and Nora resorted to squirming in her chair.

“What is all this?” he stared at the sheets on the desk, arching a brow. “Are those… clothes?”

“Are they not just gorgeous?” Vivienne lifted her chin proudly, seemingly pleased with her impeccable taste.

“These are magnificent!” Josephine cooed. “Very well thought out. Good work, enchanter.”

Vivienne beamed, taking pleasure in Josephine’s praises. “Yes, Delisle is a true master of his profession. The Inquisition will prosper greatly by putting their best silk-clad foot forward.”

It all sounded like a giant joke to Nora and she was pretty sure Cullen’s dubious frown felt the same. However, one must admit that the garments do look quite incredible. They even had matching masks, each elaborate in their own respect. Nora had never chanced upon the opportunity or a reason to don something so luxurious. The Dalish were simple creatures, most of all the Lavellan clan who applied minimalism to their drabs. Only her Keeper had wore a slightly more decorative ensemble, but it was miles from being deemed as grand. Nora found herself becoming more excited with thoughts of sashaying around in a nice dress.

“I fail to see why I am needed here so urgently,” Cullen had his arms crossed and was back to his mercurial self. “This is an utter waste of time. Who cares what we wear to the blighted palace? We are only there to stop an impending threat against the Empress, not dally with the nobles.”

“It is important nonetheless,” Vivienne simply said, ignoring Cullen’s blatant contempt for fashion.

She proceeded to ruffle through the stack again, retrieving some drawings of male figures dressed in similarly opulent costumes and fanned them out for Cullen to see. All three of them mirrored Nora’s given choices in colour and textile, varying slightly only in design to suit a man. The green one actually looked quite ridiculous with its puffy sleeves and tight-fitted breeches, and she saw Cullen visibly cringe at the sight of it.    

“Everyone else except for you and our dear Inquisitor have already left me with the deciding vote on their outfits. Very smart of them. I tried searching for the both of you all of last evening,” Vivienne’s eyes darted from the commander to Nora, like she was hiding a delicious secret. “But to no avail. It was like the both of you had disappeared from Skyhold.”

Nora felt a rising heat prickling up her neck as she stared at a smirking Vivienne, and then at Cullen who was trying to hide a very guilty expression. He resorted to clearing his throat, “Apologies, I was preoccupied with work all of last evening.”

“I assumed as much. I tried your door, but it was locked.” Something in Vivienne’s tone hinted that the enchanter had been deliberate in her choice of words.

“Which one do you like best, Josie?” Nora quickly redirected the conversation upon registering Cullen’s brewing scowl. He looked like he wanted to set Vivienne and her papers on fire.

“The green will look quite fetching on you. It compliments your eyes,” Josephine suggested, thrilled with Nora’s want of an opinion.

“A fine statement,” Vivienne nodded in agreement. “The low neckline will accentuate your subtle curves well, Inquisitor. The men at Halamshiral will not be able to resist some very candor fantasies. Persuasion will be easier if their minds are preoccupied with distracting thoughts.”

“No.” Cullen’s disapproving voice came a little too unexpectedly, surprising even himself. “Umm, what I mean is that it is too inappropriate of an attire for the Inquisitor.”

“Cullen is right,” Nora hastily agreed, appalled at the idea of any man other than her commander thinking inappropriately of her. “I do think it is a little too... revealing.”

He shot Nora a grateful look, which quickly turned into a heated gaze and her heart skipped a beat. Jealousy looked so good on him. If he did not want any other man looking her way, Nora was only too happy to comply. After all, she wanted him for herself too. His kisses, his touches, his hands which were now flexing _…_ _so strong_. A pang of desire jolted her insides and she had to pry her eyes away from his stare to calm herself.

Oh, what he did to her. He was going to be her undoing, she just knew it.

“Why not you decide, Vivienne?” she shifted her attention to the enchanter, trying to tame the growing flush rising in her cheeks.

“The mail is a tad bit vulgar. It might offend some of the nobles at court. Savage is the last thing we want them to think of us. If we are to keep descent, I would go with red and gold,” Vivienne offered, picking up the ornamental design. “Very formal, very covered up. As it pleases you, commander.”

“I am not wearing a bloody mask.”

“It is Orlesian custom, commander.”

“I am not Orlesian.”

“Maybe we should all wear the same thing?” Josephine proposed. “That way, we can all represent the Inquisition as one.”

“No masks.”

“Yes, and no masks. Commander Cullen may have a point. It will be easier to identify ourselves without the headgear.”

“All right then, red and gold without masks it is,” Vivienne said, clearly put off with the idea but seeing no other way around it. “Are we all in agreement then?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Nora smiled in relief. For a moment, she half-expected to witness a horrifying display of Vivienne and Cullen gauging each other’s eyes out.

“Commander?”

“Fine.”

“I will notify Delisle to get to work immediately,” Vivienne arranged the papers into a neat stack and scooped them up.

Without so much as a goodbye, she floated away from sight back down the stairs of Nora’s quarters. Josephine took this as her cue to leave as well and bid Nora and Cullen a polite farewell before disappearing behind Vivienne.

Cullen stood in his place, his gaze fixed on Nora, but there was a new softness in his eyes. He waited patiently until the door had clicked shut and the footsteps had fainted away before taking a step closer to where she sat.

“Honestly, I do not see a point in all of this,” he grumbled, referring to some leftover sketches Vivienne had left behind, probably on purpose. “Who cares what we wear? Are we to spend the Inquisition’s gold on petty luxuries just to please the court?”

“I don’t know, would it please you if I wore that revealing gown?” Nora teased. “Just for you, of course.”

He arched a brow in amusement. “It would please me more if you wore nothing at all.”

Oh, she squirmed at his brazen comment, unable to control the unravelling effect he had on her. He was back to being sexy Cullen, and she loved it. Her subconscious screamed to be swept off her feet by his strong, solid arms. Wanted to be encased in his tender caresses and feel his warmth spreading inside her. Sleep could wait. She wanted him, now.

“Was last night not enough for you?” she asked, boldly matching his gaze.

“Hardly,” he circled the desk and bent down to place his hands on either side of the armrest, trapping her in a welcoming confine, and he whispered against her mouth. “Today was very distracting for me. Now that we have some time alone, I should like to make you mine.”

She cupped his face lovingly, “I am already yours, Cullen. And I will always be only yours.”

His lips lifted into an adorable smile, “How are you feeling?”

“I was sleepy, but not anymore.”

“I mean how was last night for you?” the brushing of his lips on hers was very, very distracting.

“Oh,” she blushed. “I enjoyed it. Why the questions?”

“I was worried that you might think me-” he paused, as if searching for the correct words. “The last thing I want is for you to feel like I dominated you.”

“But Commander Cullen,” she could not believe he was making her say this. “I like you dominating me.”

“Really?” his eyes burned lasciviously. “So you want me to-”

“Yes.”

The legs of the chair scratched against the stone floor as he backed her up against the wall. She bit her lip and he let out a soft groan, catching her mouth, taking possession of her. He pulled her legs apart, running his hand up her thigh, lifting her robes. His fingers found its prize, wet and ready for his pleasure.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue swirling around and around while his fingers moved inside her. So intense, so exhilarating, she could not close her legs, could not move. Her mind rocketed to the ceiling, everything around her turning into a hazy blur. She shut her eyes tight.

“Say my name,” he commanded.

“Cullen!” she hardly recognized her own voice call out, so needy.

“Again.”

“Cullen, Cullen, Commander Cullen!” she called out loudly, panting wildly.

He pulled his hands away and lifted her up from the chair like she weighed nothing at all. Cradling her in his arms, he pressed his forehead on hers, breaths ragged. She was still panting when he kissed her softly on her nose, and then on her lips. The coarse bristles on his chin scratched against her skin and she rubbed her cheek gently against him, trying to steady her breaths from the near explosion.

“You make me lose myself,” she breathed, twining her arms around his neck.

His smile was warm and full of passion, “Likewise, Inquisitor.”

He turned around and Nora knew just where he was headed for.

“Now,” he whispered. “How about we try out that bed of yours?”

 


	15. Impressions

Exiting Skyhold was never an easy feat. Nora always wondered how the visiting emissaries and nobles could tough out the harsh Frostback cold, and jagged icy paths that led up to the Inquisition’s stronghold. Then again, the nobles had horse-drawn carriages to lounge in and servants to tend to their every need. All Nora and her party had were the backs of their horses- or in Nora’s case, her halla-, a small band of Inquisition soldiers assigned by Commander Cullen, and enough food and water to last them their journey if rationed out properly.

Apart from the soldiers, accompanying Nora to Halamshiral were her three advisors, Cassandra, Solas and Varric. They had travelled through vast plains, circled around towering mountains, plowed through thick jungles and even closed a couple of open rifts before finally reaching the borders of Halamshiral. They were exhausted. None of them have had a proper bath in weeks, and no baths led to some very moody tempers. Case in point their lovely ambassador Josephine, whose rich gold and purple Orlesian dress now resembled an eggplant covered in mud.

Having all three of her advisors plus her companions on this expedition were to say the least, not particularly delightful. This was the largest party she had travelled with by far, and at first, Nora had not thought much of it. After a week on the road, one must have realized that sometimes great minds do not think alike. If it was not her three advisors’ constant bickering, it was Cassandra arguing with Solas about directions, or Cullen administering a brutal lecture because she had decided to go on a looting adventure without informing the others. A massive search party had ensued only to find their Inquisitor happily skipping back to camp with a sack of elfroot a few hours later.  A visibly worried Cullen had turned into a visibly annoyed Cullen, and after getting an earful from the commander about responsibility and safety precautions, he had made Varric swear to accompanying Nora wherever she went and had assigned two recruits to keep watch of her at all times.

The wilderness had cleared to a narrow dirt path lined with thick trees that blocked the blue skies above. A derelict sign peeked from behind overgrown shrubs, its arrow pointing towards the direction of the main city. An additional plank of wood was shabbily nailed at the bottom of it, illustrating a poorly drawn picture of a house.

“We are a day’s ride from the city and it is getting late,” Cassandra announced from her horseback. “We should take shelter at the inn for tonight.”

“Thank the Maker!” Varric muttered sourly. “Finally, a bed. All that sleeping on the ground is making my back ache.”

There had been little encounters of travellers during their journey, but as they progressed further down the path, several groups of elves and merchant dwarves were seen headed the same way. Too many fearful and curious glances were directed at the Inquisition banners, causing them to break into hushed whispers amongst each other. Travelling elves both City and Dalish regarded Nora with wide-eyed intrigue, awestruck with the sight of one of their kind riding at the head of the pack, leading the banners that followed behind her.

“That must be the Inquisitor,” Nora caught one of them whispering; a Dalish girl no more older than Nora herself. “It is true then. She is one of us!”

“I heard she is from clan Lavellan,” another elf spoke in hushed tones. “She deserted them for the  _shem_  war.”

“What?” Nora stared at them in disbelief. “I am no deserter!”

Both the elves gaped at her in horror and Nora only blinked back at them expectantly. Expecting what? An apology? There was nothing she could do. Nora sighed and turned her halla to trot on, dismayed with what she had overheard.  _Why did they always have to make this a racial thing?_  But how could she blame them? For as long as she could remember, her people were taught of their history of slavery to the Tervinter Imperium and of how The Liberator, Shartan, joined Andraste’s rebellion and gathered the elven slaves to rise up and fight their masters. After Shartan fell along with Andraste, there came The Long Walk, when those who survived took to the road and made their way across the land, ending up at Halamshiral. ‘The end of the journey’ was what they named the city they founded, and so ‘Halamshiral’ it was.

Time wrote the bitter relationship of humans and elves. In the name of Andraste, the Andrastian Chantry burned Halamshiral to the ground and scattered the elves to the wind. It was the fall of the Dales, as her Keeper so often reiterated. She never failed to remind Nora that once, long ago, Andraste’s followers and the elves marched together. What was once an alliance, was nothing but tales around the fire to humans.

All along, Nora had believed that accepting the role of Inquisitor would make the  _elvhen_  proud that one of them had risen for a just cause.  _They will always want more,_  she concluded,  _and they will never stop wanting more. No different from humans, really._  She silently fumed until the hooves of Commander Cullen’s Ferelden horse slowed to a trot beside her. Bright hazel eyes scanned her sullen face and he tilted his head to one side. He had on the kind of smile that stole one’s breath away.

“Don’t listen to them,” he said gently. “You are doing a good thing here.”

“You were listening?”

“You were not very quiet.”

“They think I’ve abandoned them.”

“They just don’t know what we have done. What you have done,” he said. “Who knows what could happen to the clans if you had not sealed the breach at the Conclave and closed all those rifts.”

“Corypheus is still out there.”

“Yes, but we have set him back, for now.”

She let out another long sigh, “It was foolish of me to think they would be proud of me. All I am to my people is a deserter. Someone who betrayed her kind for the  _shem_. Why did I ever believe they would see things differently? To them, all humans are evil beings who robbed us of our lands. They don’t want peace, they want blood.”

“That is not true. Whether you see it or not, you have given us hope. After we defeat Corypheus, the world will be a better place for all of us. You always fail to see how important you are to Thedas. Without you, without our Inquisitor, all hope will be lost,” he placed a hand on his heart. “And for what it is worth, I am proud of you.”

Nora could not help the smile lifting her lips. It was times like these that made her understand why she loved him so. She looked at the man who had all of her heart and wondered what her Keeper would say if she knew it was a human Nora had chosen to fall in love with. She wanted to reach out to wrap her fingers around his, but knew better. Cullen was not one for public displays of affection and though she was sure her party knew of her romance with the Inquisition’s commander, they did not need further confirmation from a show of intimacy. What went on behind closed doors was restricted to just her and her commander.

His words of encouragement did well in lifting her spirits for the better, and Nora forced her worries at the back of her head. “Are you really sleeping with the soldiers tonight?”

He lifted a brow playfully and lowered his voice so only she could hear him, “I don’t think I have a choice. Unless, there is room for one more in your bed.”

“Always, commander,” she giggled, blushing furiously. An undressed Cullen entangling her in his solid arms would take her mind off even the most destitute of matters.

_Oh, what he did to her._

The Golden Lion was a quaint stone building which stood alone at the end of a diverging dirt path, nestled at the edge of a large clearing. Elfroot grew abundant in the patchy field around it- “Inquisitor, control yourself,” Cullen stopped her just as Nora had squealed in delight and was about to attack the herbs- and Arbor Blessings hung loosely from its moss-covered walls, swaying serenely with the cool breeze. A warm yellow glow bathed them in a welcoming light as they entered through the creaking wooden door. Stepping into the inn’s candle-lit tavern, it was alive with the sounds of clinking mugs and the sweet chorus of a bard. Servants were busy at work serving patrons with steaming plates and Nora’s mouth watered upon catching whiffs of roasted meat trailing in the air.

She scanned the area for an empty table, eager to gorge herself silly with a pint and a gigantic turkey drumstick. The place was packed, every seat taken by customers already there before them. Nora realized that a vast majority happened to be elves; Dalish in particular. She had thought nothing of the travelling Dalish while on the road, but the sheer number of so many gathered in one place was hard to ignore.

“Why are there so many here?” she turned to Solas and the elf tilted his lips knowingly.

“I heard there is an Arlathvhen taking place,” he said. “Judging by the looks of it, the gathering is not far from here.”

“Looks like a party to me,” said Varric.

“An Arlathvhen is when the Keepers of the Dalish clans gather for a meeting to share elvhen knowledge and lore to keep traditions alive,” Solas clarified before turning to Nora. “I would not be surprised if your keeper is here too.”

“Keeper Istimaethoriel?” Nora felt herself getting excited. She had not seen her Keeper since before the Conclave and though she had made the Inquisition her home, Nora sometimes missed her peaceful life back at the Lavellan clan.

Not that she wanted to go back, no. Nora had worked far too hard and seen too much of the world to want to return to her sheltered life back in the Dales. It all still seemed like a dream. One day she was reciting elvhen history to her keeper, and the next she was closing green holes of doom and killing soul-sucking demons.

Cassandra was striding towards them with a face that looked quite unpleasant, “The rooms are all full. We will just have to make do with tents outside.”

“Just great,” Varric grumbled sourly. “And here I thought a nice private foot massage would be calling my name.”

“Pardon me, I could not help but overhear your conversation. Are you in need of a room?” a lanky patron piped in. The man of no more than twenty name days was sitting alone at the table next to them. His tousled auburn hair and deep set dimples which carried a smile all the way up to his twinkling eyes suggested that he was by all means an amiable fellow. He stood up and bowed courteously at Nora, “It is really you, the Inquisitor! It is a tremendous privilege to be able to meet you. Please, accept my room as gratitude for all the work you and the Inquisition have done.”

“And you are?” Cassandra inquired bluntly.

“It does not matter who I am, for I am of no significance to this world,” he said. “But if you please, call me Garin.”

“What is your business in Halamshiral?”

“Cassandra, I hardly think that information is necessary,” Nora said, taking pity on the kind man who had not at all expected a mild interrogation from the Seeker. “That is very gracious of you, Garin. But it is not necessary. I would not want to steal your comfort on this night.”

“Please, I must insist, Herald.” Garin fished out a key and handed it to Nora. “For a lowly travelling merchant such as myself, it is reward enough to be able to help our Inquisitor, even if it is in the smallest of ways.”

“You have my gratitude, Garin,” Nora said appreciatively. “You say you are a merchant? Commander Cullen is just outside the inn. Tell him I have sent you and I’m sure the soldiers could find your stock useful.”

“It is settled then,” Varric stated after Garin had thanked Nora profusely and left. “Now two of us have the luxury of a room tonight. Better than none at all.”

“Two?” Cassandra failed to catch on.

The dwarf smirked, “Now Curly has a bed too.”

“Varric!” Nora scolded, feeling her cheeks turn red.

Cassandra only eyed her disapprovingly and stalked away while Solas disregarded the statement entirely. The dwarf chuckled and proceeded to make a dash for a table that a group of elves had just vacated. As a plate of meat landed in front of him, Nora snatched a drumstick away and seated herself across from him.

“So, are you going to crash the party?” he asked.

“I don’t think I’m allowed,” she replied, pulling off a chunk of turkey with her teeth. Succulent juices filled her mouth and she was reminded again of how hungry she was. “The Arlathvhen is only restricted to Keepers.”

She grabbed Varric’s mug and took a swig of ale. Cool liquid gushed down her throat, and she let out a refreshing sigh, “This is mine now.”

“One more pint, please,” Varric called out to a passing server. He leaned back against his chair, “Since when have you ever abided by the rules?”

“When have I not?”

He tapped the side of his head with his index finger, “Don’t get me started, Quiz. I have good memory, and I ask all the right questions. How do you think I managed to write all those books?”

“Very inquisitive of you, Varric.”

“Speaking of,” Varric paused to examine her and Nora furrowed her brows at him. “How come you don’t have a face tattoo like the rest of them?”

Nora’s hand instinctively shot up to touch her face, “Oh, you mean the symbols of our Gods. Well, I never really got around to it.”

“You don’t believe in your Gods?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” she pursed her lips to one side. “There is just no one particular God I believe in most. I guess I just chose to believe in all of them. It hardly seems fair if I tattooed just one on my face.”

When a Dalish reaches adulthood, a ritual would be held where he or she will get to decide on a symbol of their chosen God to be tattooed on their face. This was done to commemorate Evanuris- the five gods and four goddesses whom the Dalish refer to as The Creators.  

Nora could never explain why she had chosen to forgo the ritual. The best way to put it was that though she had been raised the same as all the children of her clan, she always felt herself different. One, being her innate interest in the human race. Whenever her Keeper dealt with human merchants, Nora had always watched the exchange with avid enthusiasm and would not hesitate to throw in a question or two, only to receive a disapproving frown from Keeper Istimaethoriel.

In Nora’s case, she was not so much a rebel but confused. Her whole life had been a great deal more sheltered than the rest of the Lavellan clan members. This was Keeper Istimaethoriel’s doing. There was no reason ever provided to Nora for having to grow up under the tight vigilance of her Keeper, who watched her every move like a hawk. As a child, she was never allowed to go anywhere without being escorted, and she was only ever permitted to wander as far as the aravels may be seen.

Thus, a child restricted only grew to harbour curiosity, and from that curiosity sprouted the desire for adventure. However, one that was so sheltered can only dream of such adventure but never find the bravery to go seeking it. And so, Nora resorted to other ways to challenge the norm. When the time came to choose her God, Nora had refused to have her face marked, much to her Keeper’s dismay. This decision had always bode as odd within her clan, for as the Keeper’s first, Nora should by right be setting an example for the others. To Nora, her refusal was a first step to calling the shots in her own life.

“Nora!  _Lethallan_ , is that really you?”

A petite elf with short brown hair and big, doe eyes was staring at Nora as if she had seen a ghost. A big smile crept onto her thin lips. She had the symbol of Ghilan'nain, Mother of the Halla and goddess of navigation, drawn on her face. The gasp she had first regarded Nora with quickly turned into a series of delighted shrieks when Nora stood up upon recognizing her friend from the Dales.

“Vevra?” Nora enveloped her friend in a warm, excited hug. “By the Gods, it has been too long!”

“Too long indeed,  _ma falon_ ,” her familiar voice was like a wave of nostalgia. “It is so good to see you! What are you doing here? Are you joining the Arlathvhen?”

“No, I didn’t know it was happening at Halamshiral when I arrived with the Inquisition. I’m here to attend the Winter Palace ball.”

“Oh, right,” Vevra nodded her head as if a sudden realization had struck her. “You are what the  _shem_  call Inquisitor now. The last we’ve heard from you is when the soldiers arrived to help us out. But, that was awhile back now. Have you been in contact with the Keeper?”

“Umm,  _ir abelas_  but I haven’t. There is just so much going on, I’m afraid I haven’t found the time,” Nora lied, too embarrassed to admit that she had simply forgot. “Did you come with Keeper Istimaethoriel?”

“Yes, and Alras too. We accompanied the Keeper to Halamshiral. I think she’s still preoccupied at the Arlathvhen.”

“I should like to see her,” Nora could not hide her excitement. Keeper Istimaethoriel was like a mother to Nora from even her youngest of days. Her own mother and father had died in a hunting accident when she was but an infant. It was the Keeper who had raised her as a mother would her daughter. It had been far too long since Nora had last seen a familiar face from her life before the Inquisition. So much had happened, and Nora wished nothing more than to tell Vevra and her Keeper of all the adventures she had been on. Though, she could not say the same for Alras. They had left things on a bitter note before the Conclave. “There is someone I’d like you and the Keeper to meet.”

“I am sure she is not referring to me,” Varric’s nonchalant voice injected into their conversation.

Nora laughed and motioned Vevra to the dwarf. “Vevra, this is Varric. Varric, Vevra. She was my closest friend in my clan.”

“And still is, I hope,” Vevra winked and shook hands with Varric. “ _Andaran atish’an_  Varric. I hope Nora here has been behaving herself in the Inquisition. She can be quite naughty at times.”

“Vevra!”

“Oh, I like this one,” Varric let out a hearty laugh.

“I can see you two will get along very well,” Nora grumbled as her two friends snickered in her face.

“So if it is not Varric, then who would you like me to meet?” Vevra asked with avid intrigue.

“Well, you know that templar I told you about… he’s here. I mean, he works for the Inquisition now.”

Vevra’s mouth dropped to openly gape at her. “It can’t be! You can’t possibly mean that templar you were so crazy about after Kirkwall? You met him?”

Varric’s eyes travelled to Nora with grasping amusement, “Really now? This is interesting indeed. You didn’t tell me you’ve met Curly before all of this, Nora.”

“I-- It was--”

“Oh, you don’t know?” a glint of mischief flickered in Vevra’s eyes. “Nora just could not shut up about him. You see, she went to Kirkwall to visit a sickly someone- am I right,  _lethallan_?- Anyway, she got into some trouble--”

“Stop it, Vevra!”

“--and then this templar saves her. When she returned to the clan, that was it. Poor girl was smitten. Everyone thought she was deluded! Well, I certainly thought she was. She was going on and on about how gallant and strong he was…”

“Vevra, I mean it!”

“... and really, you’ve got to give credit to that stubborn determination of hers. She was so convinced that they were meant for each other. A  _shem_  templar and an  _elvhen_  mage, hah! Even for me, that was crazy and I’ve done some pretty questionable things in my life. Tried feeding the hallas deep mushroom once. That didn’t turn out too well. Plus, she’d only ever met him that one time. She was so far gone that she even turned down our warleader when he offered to bond with her. All because of her mystery  _shem_ \--”

“That’s enough, Vevra!” Nora stood in horror, watching Varric slowly digest Vevra’s account of the secret she had kept from the Inquisition since day one. She was terribly sure that Varric would not hesitate to include a story this juicy into his book. Dorian would be updated soon enough. They would never, ever let Nora live this down.

“You know, I’m starting to think that you joined the Inquisition for an entirely different cause now, Quiz.”

“Do shut up, Varric.”

“And this is my cue to leave you to your reunion,” he pushed out his chair and hopped off, grabbed Bianca resting against the table leg and saluted the both of them. “Good to meet you, Vevra. Should you have more stories of our Quiz, my tent is just outside.”

Vevra laughed gaily and shrugged at Nora. It was a typical Vevra move whenever she knew she had done something wrong. She simply laughed it off as a way of apology and as always, Nora would relent and forgive her friend, no matter the fault. It had always been like that, the both of them. Vevra, although loud and full of mischief, was regarded as Nora’s voice of reason; the only one who could convince Nora against making some very irrational decisions. It was Vevra who had cried together with Nora whenever she was sad and it was Vevra who had stopped Nora from running back to Kirkwall to search for her templar. It was also Vevra who had convinced the Keeper to send Nora to the Conclave because she believed Nora deserved more than to forever live like caged bird within the Lavellan clan.

“Oh, Nora. I was just having abit of fun with you,” her voice had a wise tone to it; a stark contrast to her very perky character. She winked and tapped Nora on the nose, “Just as well you met him,  _lethallan_. Now you can tell everyone that you were not crazy after all.”

“I was never crazy to begin with,” Nora huffed, remembering when Vevra had spent days talking Nora out of hoping for a flimsy possibility of anything transpiring with her templar if she returned to Kirkwall. Nora’s place was with her clan, and not running after a wishful fantasy of a happy ever after. That was not the way Thedas worked. And so, Nora stowed away her foolish dreams in a chest and every once in awhile when no one was looking, she would take them out while she laid under a constellation of stars just to remember she still had those dreams. They were not entirely of her saviour templar, but mostly of what life could be outside of her clan- the endless possibilities of choices that one could make instead of her own predetermined path as the keeper’s First.

“So, have you bonded with him?” Vevra asked. “I can’t imagine Alras would be too pleased with the knowledge. You did tell me you were considering bonding with him after returning from the Conclave. We can both agree that is never going to happen now.”

“No, of course not! It is too early for that. Anyway, he is the commander of the Inquisition’s forces and also my advisor. Bonding was never an option.” However, as Nora spoke, she could not help her thoughts drifting to Cullen, a small cottage and a little girl. Wasn’t that what she ultimately wanted in life? A family to call her own? It seemed those aspirations had long been forgotten since she accepted her role as Inquisitor. Trust someone from her past to resurrect them for her. “Plus, I don’t think he even knows what bonding is.”

“Oh, right. I am guessing that you are in what  _shems_  call a courtship,” Vevra concluded, not fully grasping what human relationships meant. She was Dalish after all and Nora could not fault her friend for sounding a little skeptical. “But the both of you are in love, yes?”

“Yes, I suppose we are.”

“In love,  _da’len_?”

Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan was a petite woman, pale and of wiry frame. Her hair shone a metallic silver, clasped together in a neat round bun that rested just above the nape of her neck. Unlike Vevra, Deshanna was wise as how she spoke and carried herself with an unsettling mixture of collectiveness and pride. The maturity of her age did nothing to tarnish the humble beauty that painted her features. Rough weather and conditions in the Dales had not succeeded in donning but faint wrinkles at the corners of her brown, almond eyes that crinkled upwards as she openly held her arms out with a smile at Nora. “At last, I thought I would never see you again.”

“Keeper!” Nora rushed to embrace the woman who had nurtured her from infancy. Fresh herbs and pine nuts, Deshanna still had the same scent Nora loved so much. “I’ve missed you.”

“ _Andaran atish’an_ , Nora,” Alras greeted her from Deshanna’s side. Nora’s eyes landed on the elvhen warrior who did not offer a smile. To any other race, Alras’ greeting would come across as polite in all manners, but as Dalish, Nora knew the formality of those words were meant for outsiders. If he had been at all happy to see her, a friendlier “ _Aneth ara_ ” would have been used instead between elven counterparts.

“Alras,” she nodded just as politely, fully aware that he was scanning her from top to bottom in a way that made her stomach sick. He was in all rights an impressionable young elf; athletic and agile in build with gleaming blond hair that he wore slicked back, amplifying his sharp unmistakable elven features. That egoistic sneer however, ruined everything of what could be someone admirable.

“How fares our Inquisitor?” Deshanna spoke warmly. “You must convey my gratitude to the commander for sending his soldiers to help us out with the bandits. The Duke of Wycome has ensured us that no further harm will come to our clan, though I am unsure of the extent his assurance will prove solid. Still, I am grateful to you and the Inquisition. We are peaceful, for now.”

“We should not trust the Duke too much,” Alras added, an air of importance wafting around his words. “The  _shem_  like to make promises they never keep.”

“You are in no position to make such a statement, Alras. Our Inquisitor has proven herself that she has not forgotten our clan and is responsible for the safety we currently enjoy in Wycome. Do you think that the Duke would have helped us at all if it were not for the Inquisition and Nora?” Deshanna cut him short and Alras hurriedly silenced himself, unwilling to upset his Keeper.

As calm as Deshanna may be, when challenged, she never screamed, but her tongue was sharp enough to scare one into compliance. Out of every member of the Lavellan clan, only one dared go against her words. Vevra liked to say that Deshanna had a soft spot for Nora, but that leniency came with a price for the Keeper never let Nora out of her sight, right up until Nora was finally allowed to go to the Conclave. “How has the Inquisition been treating you? Well I should hope, considering you are putting your own life at risk for the  _shem_.”

“Better than I should be, Keeper. And, it is not only for the  _shem_. What the Inquisition is working so hard for is ultimately to bring peace to Thedas, for all races,” Nora explained, this time actually meaning what she said instead of reciting the same words with practiced monotony as she had always done to visiting emissaries at Skyhold.

“And I am proud of you,  _da’len_ ,” Deshanna smiled supportively. “If you believe the cause is just, then I believe it too.”

“Oh, Keeper. There is so much I want to tell you,” Nora said eagerly. “About the Inquisition, about the demons I fought, everything.”

“My, that does sound rather exciting. But first, what was it I overheard about you finding love? Congratulations are in order,  _da’len_. You must introduce me to him. I should like to meet the young  _elvhen_  who won you over. Did you two meet in the Inquisition? And here I thought Alras still had a fighting chance.”

Alras merely scoffed, “It is hard to meet someone that is of better standing compared to a warleader.”

“Uh… he is from the Inquisition, yes.” Nora looked over hesitantly at Vevra who was silently shaking her head at her.  _No_ , she could not tell her just yet. It would be better if Keeper Istimaethoriel met him instead. “Why not we have dinner together? Tonight.”

“A splendid idea,” Deshanna seemed satisfied. “I shall retire for some rest now. You can tell me all about the Inquisition then.”

As Vevra turned to leave along with Deshanna, she leaned in to whisper in Nora’s ear, “Good luck,  _lethallan_. You are going to need it.”

All that was left was to break the news to Cullen, which Nora was sure he was not going to be too excited about. But this was Nora’s chance to show her Keeper that he was a good man, and that Nora could make her own choices. She did not need a warleader, or an elven boy specifically to make her happy. Cullen did that just fine. Now, she just had to convince Deshanna of it.

The atmosphere outside was alive with activity from the Inquisition. Soldiers were busy erecting tents and redirecting the weapons and supplies carriages. Underneath a shady tree, a requisitions desk had been set up and a preoccupied Cassandra was busy studying the forms. Josephine and Leliana had their backs on the stone walls, deep in discussion as Josephine scribbled away on her hand-held board. Over by the shrubs, a calm Solas was sipping on some tea out of his personal flask, a tome in hand.

Nora spied the commander casually surveying his soldiers’ operations, hands clasped behind his back as he inspected the state of the weapons carriage. He looked just like he had on all other days- measured and of purpose. Two officers stood by his side as he accepted verbal reports one by one and barked out some orders before dismissing them. If she were anyone else, he would come across as unapproachable. But, as one did when in love, she saw none of that and she had to wonder to herself what it was about him that entranced her so.

His steely expression disappeared upon catching sight of her. “Inquisitor, I was just making sure everything is in order. That merchant you sent to me, I have already purchased the necessary supplies from him. Is there something else you need?”

“Do stop working, commander. There are no trebuchets here for you to calibrate. You haven’t had anything to eat since we’ve arrived.” Nora beckoned him over to a corner, away from all the soldiers. He leaned a shoulder against a tree trunk and unfolded his arms, massaging his temple as a sort of sign that told Nora food was the last thing on his mind. She reached out to touch his arm, “We need to talk. My Keeper, Deshanna. She is here for the Arlathvhen, along with two other Lavellan clan members. I’ve asked them to have dinner with me and… I was hoping you might come as well. Keeper Istimaethoriel would like to meet you.”

“That is wonderful,” Cullen’s answer surprised her so much that she had to take a moment to be sure he actually meant it. “It would be an honour to meet your Keeper. So, you have told her about us?”

“Yes, well… not entirely.”

“Specifically?”

“I might have failed to mention some important bits.”

“Again, specifically?”

She bit her bottom lip, “Like you being the commander of the Inquisition’s forces… and that you are human.”

“That is tricky indeed,” he said after a brief pause.

“Wait, so you are not mad at me?” she furrowed her brows in confusion. A cool Cullen was not what she had been expecting. “Has someone been drugging your water?”

Cullen chuckled and scanned around for prying eyes before brushing a finger gently along her cheek, “You should see the look on your face. No, I am not mad. Why would I be, Eleanor?”

“I like it when you say my name.”

“You have a lovely name, though I have always wondered why it is not Dalish.”

“Nora is my Dalish name,” she explained. “Eleanor was the one my mother gave me. Keeper Istimaethoriel says it is because Mother was always fascinated with human ways, just like I am.”

“I much prefer Eleanor.”

“You are only human, commander.”

“Just so,” he smiled adoringly. “Now, I am guessing you want me to convince your Keeper that I am worthy of you?”

“That is the plan, yes,” she said, relieved about not having to deal with a mercurial commander. Nora chalked it down as this being one of his better days. During their travel to Halamshiral, she had noticed that his nightmares had subsided. The withdrawals were not as harsh as they were before and though he looked worn out from leading the troops, sleep was almost always pleasant on most nights. “Do you think you can handle that?”

“I’ve handled a lot worse,” his reply was deadpanned. “Are you worried she might disapprove?”

Her smile faltered. “I don’t doubt that she will most definitely disapprove.”

“What can I do to make things better?”

 _Nothing_ , she thought.  _Nothing at all_. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe she should not have proposed introducing Cullen to Deshanna at all. Though the Lavellan clan had always maintained a certain degree of civility with humans, to consort in this manner with one was unheard of and Alras would surely not hesitate to spit fire in Cullen’s face. And of course, Cullen being Cullen, would bash his face against the ground. A brawl was miles from the outcome she hoped for.

“There is something else,” she continued. “Vevra, my friend from the clan, she already knows everything. But there is one more member here, Alras, the warleader. He-- well, we were supposed to bond a long time ago. I refused him, of course. He might be a problem. I don’t think he will like you very much. Please Cullen, whatever he says, don’t take it to heart. Alras is just bitter and- and I will never feel for him like how I do for you.”

“Bond? As in marriage?”

“Yes, marriage, Cullen. He asked me to marry him and I said no because-- because I did not want to. Because of Kirkwall… it was stupid of me to think I would cross paths with you again, and I had told myself that I was going to accept his offer after returning from the Conclave…”

Nora started pacing about frantically, unsure of why she was suddenly so worked up over the whole situation. They had not even sat down for dinner yet and there she was, stressing over what she was certain could only be a very uncomfortable and heated argument with her Keeper and Alras.

Despite the soldiers nearby, Cullen reached for her hands and she turned to meet his steady gaze. He gave her a gentle squeeze, stopping her pacing. “But you are here now, with me. We are here. Stressing about how things will turn out is not going to do you any good, love,” his voice was soft, reassuring. “No more fretting. We will deal with your Keeper and this Alras when the time comes, together.”

“Together?” the word seemed to hold a new meaning to Nora as she searched her commander’s eyes for confirmation. Images of Cullen in a little cottage swirled into her mind once more.  _Together, with him_. Was the thought too ludicrous to believe?

“Together,” he repeated, confidently.

“Since when have we ever done things together?”

“Well, I can name a few. One of which I particularly enjoy,” he kept his voice low, lips tilted in a crooked smile.

Her heart skipped a beat. “Specifically, commander?”

“It is for the better if I demonstrate it,” he said, licking his lips in a manner that made Nora tingle all over.

“I should like the demonstration now, I think. You are relieved of your duties, Commander Cullen.” She proceeded to lead him to back to the inn, and as they walked side by side, both took care to maintain stolid faces as they made their way to Nora’s room upstairs.

And it was then that Nora could not help but think that just as well she had fallen from the sky with an ugly green mark sewn on her palm, for if she had not, she would never have met her templar.


	16. Clan

“Tell me about your family.” She was sprawled naked under the sheets of the rickety bed, a splendidly bare Cullen by her side with his head resting on one hand.

Still warm from being ravished by her lover, Nora had almost forgotten about the dinner that took place not long ago. But not entirely. It had not gone as expected. It was even worse. Correction, it was brutal. Literally, someone was hurt. And it was not Cullen who had delivered the punch. Alras had stumbled away with a fresh bruise, and it was safe to say that the pain had not hurt as much as his pride after Nora had landed her knuckles on his right eye.

Cullen trailed his fingers along the shape of her thigh, nestling his hand comfortably below the steady rise and fall of her breasts. “They are just like any ordinary Fereldan folks. Special only to each other. There is nothing much to say.”

“I never knew my parents. It would be interesting to know how an ordinary family works.”

“I am sorry. That was inconsiderate of me,” he sighed, realizing his mistake.

“Don’t be. It is not your fault.”

“Ah, but it is because of me that you punched your warleader. Can I at least apologize for that? I had not meant to cause such trouble.”

“That too, isn’t your fault. It was his for hurling such horrible words at you.” The mere thought of Alras made her blood boil. Nora had wanted to fill in her clan members on all the thrilling stories she had about her time with the Inquisition, but the conversation never made it to that point. From the very moment Deshanna laid eyes on Cullen, things went awry.

“He does not intimidate me.”

She closed her eyes and nuzzled his chest, slowly breathing in the sweet muskiness of his skin. “I know,” she whispered into him.

Upon seating themselves across the tavern’s table from Nora’s elven clan, Alras had spit out his drink in blatant disgust, as if the taste was as blasphemous as the idea of Nora being with a human male. The Keeper did nothing to control the warleader’s abhorrent manners, for her shock was transfixed on Cullen. Only Vevra had bothered with courtesies, while Deshanna finally managed a wry smile when Cullen shook her hand.

“And where is the _elvhen_ boy you were going to introduce me to, _da’len_? Could he not make it for dinner tonight?” Deshanna had asked, obviously clinging to a sliver of hope that it could not possibly be Cullen that Nora had acquainted herself with.  

“I did not actually say he was _elvhen_ , Keeper.” Nora had kept her voice meek, humble. Her goal was for Deshanna to give them her blessings, but it was going to take a lot of convincing. Especially with Alras there, nostrils flared and rage apparent in his cold stare. “Cullen is the commander of the Inquisition’s forces, an honourable man. He was the one who dispatched troops to Wycome to disperse the bandits attacking our clan.”

Deshanna had not only shamelessly ignored the statement, but also had not bothered herself with masking her apparent disapproval. “But _da’len_ , he is a _shem_. It is hardly appropriate.” She then fixed Cullen with a look that Nora knew no amount of persuasion could change what she had already made up in her mind. “Excuse my overtness, commander. I am sure you are a good man and I thank you for your service to the Inquisitor. However, I must confess that I am unable to support your union with my First. Please understand that I have my reasons.”

“But Keeper--” Nora tried to protest when she felt Cullen squeeze her hand under the table. He had been silent thus far since formally greeting Nora’s clan.

When Cullen finally spoke, his tone was steady, firm; much like the commander he truly was. If Alras’ transparent distaste for him had affected him at all, Cullen hid it well. “Keeper Istimaethorial, I cannot pretend to understand your concerns. In truth, I am here because your blessing is important to Eleanor, and what is important to her is equally as important to me. Regretfully, I cannot change my race to win your approval and even if I could, I would not wish to do so. But what I can promise you is that I will do everything in my power to protect Eleanor and care for her as both an advisor and as a partner.”

“Always with the promises,” Alras hissed at Cullen. “You _shem_ are all the same. Mark my words, it is only a matter of time before he throws you in the gutter, Nora. Is this what you left your warleader for? A disgusting shem who pretends to care for you for the sole purpose of his own advantage? Snap out of it, for your own good. _Ma banal las halamshir var vhen_.”

“I am afraid Alras is right, _da’len_. Your fascination with shem ways have always blinded you to their true nature. First you refuse _Vallaslin_ , and now this.”

“What does it matter if he is _elvhen_ , dwarven or human? Shouldn’t everyone have the freedom to be with whoever they want?”

“It matters that he is a _shem_ , _da’len_.”

“Why?” Nora had insisted, seething inside. She simply could not understand why it was so impossible to accept that she, an elf, could have a possible life with a human. “We cannot rewrite history, but we can change the future. Isn’t it about time we forget about the past and accept one another? I don’t see why it is so difficult to do so.”

“He is the templar from Kirkwall, Keeper. You and I both know Nora will only be happy if she is with him,” Vevra tried to defend her friend, but she had not realized that she had made it worse.

“How can a templar and a mage be together? It is as unheard of as it is dangerous,” Deshanna dismissed Vevra altogether. “No, Vevra. I will not allow you to credit this relationship.”

“But Keeper, I love him.”

“What do you know of love, _da’len_?” It came in a fleeting instance. For a brief second, Deshanna’s veil of collectiveness broke and there was a flicker of sadness in her eyes. Then just as quickly, within a pace of a heartbeat, it was gone. But it was not an illusion, for Nora had caught the sorrow before Deshanna could swiftly disguise it again. The Keeper’s tone had turned dark, forewarning. “You are too trusting, Nora. Just like your mother. _Fen’harel ma ghilana_ , stop this madness before you regret it.”

“My mother would be happy for me.” Nora’s eyes started to sting, but she viciously blinked away the urge to tear. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Her grip on Cullen’s hand tightened as she tried to fight the tears from pooling in her eyes. She stood up, refusing to be chastised a moment longer. “Fine, I do not need your blessing, Keeper. If you cannot trust that I am old enough to make judgements for myself, then so be it. I don’t even know why I tried in the first place. Let’s go Cullen, there is no point to this dinner anymore.”

It would have ended that way; bitter and unproductive, but better that than an outright spectacle for the entire tavern to witness. If Alras had kept to merely sneering, Nora would have left with Cullen and Keeper Istimaethoriel would have dismissed the event as a passing fancy Nora would soon tire of. However, what happened next proved that such was not meant to be, for Alras, only contented by having the last word, deemed it only appropriate to openly spit at Nora’s commander, followed with some nasty words. “ _Ar tu na’lin emma mi!_ ”

This, to Nora, was unacceptable. Before Cullen could stop her, she had launched herself straight at Alras, knocking him onto the floor. She would have strangled that hateful sneer right out his face if the commander had not rushed over to pry a very angry Nora off the warleader. By then, patrons of the tavern were no longer bothered with previous activities and had turned their full attention on the raging Inquisitor.

“Say that again and it is your blood that is going to be on my blade!” Nora shouted at the elf, beyond furious that he had dared utter such a threat. But it was her Keeper she was most upset with, for Deshanna had done nothing to stop Alras.

“See, Keeper. He has already taught his dog to attack!” Alras hissed from the ground, one hand clutching at his swollen eye.

Just as Nora was about to charge at him again, Cullen had grabbed her shoulders and held her in place. “Don’t, Inquisitor. He is not worth it.”

“And heel too! You deserve a treat, Nora.” The fool had not known when to stop.

“Forgive me,” Cullen said dryly, and had proceeded to take Alras by the collar and drag him kicking out of the front door. A yelp. A thud. When the commander returned shortly after, he strided straight up to Deshanna with the most glacial of faces. “Keeper, you should leave now.”

And the Keeper had left without another word, Vevra in tow mouthing the words “sorry” to Nora in elven before disappearing out of the inn. The show had ended and the tavern’s patrons returned once more to entertaining themselves with speculations of what had caused the minor ruckus. Even her companions were smart enough to avoid an interference, and Cassandra together with Leliana and the ambassador had only watched the event unfold in the utmost horror. Not wanting to wait for any of them to attempt an approach, Nora had fled upstairs to her room.

She had not realized her commander had followed until his arms enveloped her from behind. He held her close, saying nothing, and she turned around to bury her face in his chest. The tears she had tried so hard to fight back came rushing altogether and he stroked her hair as she sobbed into him. They had stayed that way for a time, her commander holding onto her, telling her it was all going to be alright, and when she finally peeked her head up to meet his gentle gaze, he had brushed away the tears and kissed her ever so softly.

Forcing herself to dismiss thoughts of her Keeper, of Alras, of her clan, she steered Cullen to the bed and they fell together, entangled in each other. Clothes were pulled off, body sliding against body, lips locked in wanting desire.

And they had lost themselves in their heat.

He held her close in the aftermath. Blissfully wrapped in his warmth and freshly strung out, she would have gladly fallen asleep in his arms if not for the slight twitching of his hand. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing love.” He stilled himself, balling up his fists.

Softly, she placed her own hand over his. “Have faith, _ma vhenan_. You are doing so well,” she said encouragingly.

“I can only hope that in time…” his voice trailed off as if he did not believe himself.

“You will.” She looked into his eyes, and there it was; a darkness rooted deep within. Her poor templar, doomed to walk a lonely path accompanied only by his demons. But she knew it did not have to be so. He did not have to bear this burden alone anymore. They would do it together. Just as he was her shelter from the storm, she would be his. For in that darkness, she saw promise, she saw light.

There had to be a light.

If her Keeper did not want anything to do with Cullen, then Nora did not want anything to do with the Lavellan clan. Distraught as she was for alienating herself from Deshanna, Nora could not care less if she was forbidden from returning to her clan after serving her purpose in the Inquisition. Home was wherever Cullen was. But he need not know this just yet. She would not have hesitated if he had, at that very second, told her to run away with him. They would leave everything behind- her clan, his nightmares, the Inquisition; hide away in a remote village where no one would find them. Live a simple, peaceful life and become--

“Farmers.” he whispered, soft and low.

“Farmers?”

“Yes, farmers.” She realized he meant his parents. “I have two sisters, Mia and Rosalie. Then there is Branson, who is not much younger than me. Mia is the eldest, and little Rosalie is getting married to a boy I used to pick on. Well, I suppose she is already a wife since I missed the wedding months ago. Mia has a son from her first marriage, whom she thought funny to name after me. I have not met him yet. I have not seen any of them since I joined the Templar Order.”

“It must be nice having so many siblings.”

“Only when we are not tearing each other’s eyes out. Nothing a game of chess could not solve.” He gave a low chuckle and Nora could tell he missed them dearly. “What about you? I am sure you have some fond memories of your clan.”

“Some.” Her lips curled into a sad smile. Of course she had, and though they might not be as wonderful as his, there was a time when she had went on with life bearing no worries. Of splashing about in the crystal clear stream that ribboned the valley of the Free Marches, of flower garlands and plentiful elfroot; those were her memories. Always alone, always out of touch with the world around her. “But I should like to make new ones, with you.”

He pulled her into him and lifted her chin up, closing the gap between them. “Sounds like a plan,” he murmured against her lips.

The door of their tiny room swung open. Cullen’s hand immediately shot out to cover her bare chest, but in vain. An Inquisition officer who had turned the exact shade of a beetroot was staring with his mouth ajar at his commanding officer, whom he was not supposed to have found naked in bed, let alone with his equally naked Herald. By then, Cullen’s face had already contorted into a very deathly glare, which did nothing to shoo his officer away but petrify the poor man.

It was too late to rectify the situation. The soldiers would soon have light to the scandal. Nora kept her limbs wrapped around her commander’s waist, her chin resting on his muscular shoulders. She lifted a brow jestingly, “Well, go on then. Tell us. There’s no use just standing there. Unless you should wish to join in, officer?”

“GET OUT!” Cullen roared.

Quick as lighting, the door slammed shut. They were alone once more. A rather peeved Cullen glowered beside her. “You did not think to lock the door?”

“I thought you locked it.”

“You should have locked the bloody door.”

“Well, excuse me for forgetting because I was bawling my damn eyes out, Cullen,” Nora said shrilly.

He threw his hands up in a frustrated sigh. “Eleanor, just… lock the blighted door next time alright?”

“If you are going to be such a control freak about it, you lock it then!”

“Do you always have to be so difficult?”

“I’m difficult?” She banged her fists on the sheets. “Do you have a ghastly green mark on your hand? No! Do you carry the weight of Thedas’ fate and the fate of billions of lives on your shoulders? No! Do you have a Keeper who dictates who you can and cannot be with? No! Did you just punch your own clan member? NO! So why can’t you just lock the DAMNED door?!”

He blinked. “This is no longer about the door, is it?”

“Yes it is! I don’t care who walks in. The Maker himself could walk in and I wouldn’t care. So, if you care so much, then you lock the door!”

“Fine, then we won’t lock the door.”

“Fine!”

“Fine.”

“If the both of you are just about done, I should like to come in.” Keeper Istimaethoriel’s calm voice pierced into Nora’s ears, and she jumped so far apart from Cullen that she almost fell to the floor.

“Maker, does anyone ever knock these days?” Cullen muttered unpleasantly, pulling at the sheets to shield himself.

Deshanna’s eyes darted from Nora to the commander. It was evident that she found the bearings of her First and the _shem_ she disapproved of quite unpalatable. However, her decision to refrain from any chiding comments indicated she had come in peace. “When you are dressed, may we have a word in private?”

Still upset with her Keeper and totally unconcerned that she was still fully naked, Nora folded her arms stubbornly and moved closer to Cullen. “Whatever you want to say to me, you can say it in front of Cullen.”

The Keeper arched a brow at her frankly. “Not you, da’len. I meant the commander.”

* * *

 

Not many have ever succeeded in intimidating Commander Cullen, and he doubted many ever will. That nasty piece of work that was the Lavellan clan’s warleader certainly had not. For the Inquisitor’s sake, he had refrained himself from knocking the fool’s teeth out. Apparently, Eleanor had done the work for him, and Cullen would be lying if he said he was not happy she did it. Though as commander, it was only appropriate to keep the thought to himself. But insulting him was one thing. Insulting his Inquisitor was another. That was crossing the line. And after dragging his sorry behind out of the tavern, the poor sod almost wet himself when he saw Cullen preparing his fists to land another punch. He had not in the end punched the elf, for the look on Alras’ face was reward enough. He had however satisfied himself with flinging the warleader into the bushes.

Alras might have failed to intimidate him, but Keeper Istimaethoriel did not. The unsettling amount of composure Deshanna carried herself with made Cullen uncomfortable. It was unnerving how she managed to look so at peace with everything around her even though he was sure she hated his guts. Cullen made sure to keep a respectable distance as they walked side by side along a narrow path behind the inn. How had he not noticed this road before? They were not far away before overgrown thickets marred the trail’s guide and The Golden Lion vanished into a faint yellow glow behind them.

Eleanor had stayed behind by the request of Deshanna but even before they had stepped out of the room, Cullen already suspected her intentions of getting him alone. Why she chose to lead him so far off was uncertain, still he tagged along with her whim out of respect for his Inquisitor. It was not for awhile before the Keeper spoke. “How long?”

He knew exactly what she meant. “Some months.”

As they walked under the thickening purple sky, Deshanna lit whatever that was left of a path with a wave of her staff. “This, Halamshiral, is the land of _elvhen_. Only we know what secrets it truly holds,” she said, brushing aside stray branches to plow her way onwards. “There are many sacred things here that you humans fail to see, even if it is as plain as day. All you do is wreak destruction.”

The tall grass had cleared to reveal a place that looked somewhat like a dumping ground for abandoned waste. Looking around, he could only make out rotting wooden planks scattered across the area. Some of them had streaks of faded paint, and what looked like a splintered wheel that once belonged to a large carriage lay forgotten and unwanted. Charred remains of a burnt tree bark stood like a pitiful statue marking the middle of a wrecked square.

It escaped him as to why she brought him here exactly. The sun would soon sink below the lands and they had best be heading back soon. Possibly, there was still enough time to debrief his men and align strategies with the other advisors before they make their way to the Winter Palace next evening. Also, his Inquisitor was waiting for him, in bed, and he would love nothing more than to slide under the sheets next to the soft of her thighs and hope to fall into a dreamless sleep.

Deshanna’s gaze was desolate as she surveyed the area. “Look closely, commander. For this is the destruction of humans upon our kind. Now I dare you to tell me the same fate will not befall your dear Inquisitor.”

As soon as she said it, the field in which he stood that seemed so meaningless before had started to morph into something else. Just like fixing a puzzle, pieces of an image slowly started to fit together and he was no longer standing in the middle of a wasteland, but a Dalish settlement that had long died away. Humans did this, during the Exalted March and these were the remains of it, left to perish and be lost to the world. The Keeper had brought him to another kind of elven graveyard and suddenly, Cullen understood what she had meant and also, what she dreaded. As much as he would like to refute her accusations, Keeper Istimaethoriel had a point. Even if she knew not of what Cullen’s relationship was like with Eleanor, and he certainly would not tell, Cullen could not deny that his Inquisitor had endured ‘complications’ posed by none other than himself in order to establish the current status they were in.

But was that not why he loved her?

After a bout of silence which Deshanna found no reason to disrupt, Cullen finally addressed her accusations in a most diplomatic manner that he had learnt through time from watching Josephine work. Though the Keeper may be the closest living being to his Inquisitor, Cullen was not the type to bare all. Especially not to someone who despised him. “We are all in danger, Keeper. Surely you realize that the efforts of our Inquisitor is not for waste.”

But Deshanna was smarter than that. Where Cullen was advantageous in strategies and the art of combat, the Keeper was in navigating conversations. “Yes, but all her efforts will go to waste if she is destroyed by you.”

“That will not happen,” he said, teeth almost baring. Stilling himself, Cullen crossed his arms and firmly dismissed the pang of guilt that struck him like a lightning bolt. He felt the direness of her words crawl under his skin.

“How sure are you? Will you be able to protect her when it is you who sends her into battle?” she asked with the same rigid sense of doubt, the same accusatory tone. “We both know she will do anything for you, and I know my Nora. She is just like her mother. She will jump into a pit of burning flames without a second thought just to save you, commander. Would you do the same?”

“If you are testing me, Keeper, then you already know my answer to that.”

“And here is my next question. If she dies for you, is it worth it?”

“It will never come to that.” He balled his fists, trying to remain stoic. What Deshanna said was indeed true, and it was this truth that bothered him most. Eleanor would do anything for him and as pathetic as this made her seem, it was the trait that won him over. She truly loved him. She loved the parts of him that he thought no one ever would. Love and sacrifice comes hand in hand and Nora being Nora, she would never let him take the fall. She had already proven that when he drew his sword on her.

But love was also simple. It came from the heart, and if one was willing to sacrifice, the other would do the same. It was unpredictable and indescribable; and try as he may to deny what he felt, there was only ever one conclusion. He wanted to be with her, and he knew that he too would do anything for her. And if the time came when protecting her meant breaking her heart, it would be his own decision, not Deshasnna’s. “Night is falling, Keeper. If you have brought me here to convince me to leave her, I am afraid you are wasting your time.”

“Has she told you of her parents?” asked Deshanna, but she did not wait for a reply. “I suppose you already know of their deaths, but that is not what really happened.”

“Eleanor should be the one to hear this, not me.”

“We do what we can to protect the ones we love, don’t we?” she said and placed a hand on the scorch marks marring the old tree trunk, feeling it like it was a fresh wound that needed healing. There was sadness in the way she traced the blackened bark and in an instant, she had composed herself as she turned to face Cullen once more. “They did not die from a hunting accident, commander. No, it was far from that. Her mother was murdered… by one of your kind- a _shem_. Her father.”

By then, it was really getting dark. If it was not noticed before, the sky had already turned into a grey slate that blanketed them from above. They could not go back yet though, for Deshanna had him gripped by the revelation. She continued, “He was a city guard in Kirkwall. She was my closest friend, and despite my objections, I kept her secret. This, I will regret until I leave this world. One day, I found her green and unable to stomach any meals. She was with child and he had cast her aside out of shame. We managed to conceal the truth from the clan and as I was Keeper, no one questioned her relationship with a city elf. I forbade her to see him, but love is blind. She loved him enough to go back to him, and I loved her enough to let her go. When Nora was born, she begged me to let her bring the child to Kirkwall. When we arrived, the only person we found was a wretched drunk. While I waited outside with the child, there was shouting and screaming, and then a loud crash. But it was the silence after that that made me rush in to find her lying in a pool of blood. The man had put a sword in her.”

She was no longer looking at Cullen. Her gaze was set into the distance as though she was depicting a series of disturbing moving images painted in the horizon. “He killed her, and I killed him. There was nothing I could do to save her, and so I watched the life slowly drain out of her, with little Nora in my arms. Have you ever had to watch someone you love die in front of you?”

Yes, Cullen knew the feeling well. It was a pain so horrific, one would almost not believe it. A silent thundering in the deepest pits of your heart that turned your soul ice cold, you would think you had gone numb and then, your whole body would start to fail uncontrollably and finally, you are as dead inside as the one you lost. “Yes, I have,” and he said no more. He did not need her sympathy.

He should probably tell Eleanor. She would want to know about this. It was understandable why Deshanna opposed their union, but what was not justifiable was her assumption that all humans were the same. Eleanor's father may have turned out that way, but Cullen was not that kind of man. “There are good people and there are bad people,” he told her firmly.

“And which one are you, commander?”

“None,” and it was the truth. “But I love her.”

Deshanna remained unmoved. “Is it enough? She is a mage, and a mage with fantasies of a fairytale ending. I have done all I can to shelter her, but the girl is headstrong. She believes that you can give her all her hopes and dreams. But that is not true, is it? At the end of the day, you are a templar. We are not living in a storybook.”

“That is her choice to make, not yours.”

“Tell me, if one day her power overwhelms her, will you not strike her down?” It was the question Cullen had been dreading but it was bound to surface soon enough. Still, it did not mean he had to address it. He took care to maintain impassiveness and because he was so good at it, Deshanna only frowned at his unwillingness to reveal any sort of emotion. She soon gave up, “I give my _da’len_ credit. She certainly knows how to pick the strong ones. Still…” and with that sort of compliment, she found no need to finish her sentence.

It was clear that this conversation was going nowhere as neither parties were willing to give in to each other’s reasoning. The evening had come to an end, and it was time to return to the Inquisitor. Well, that was where Cullen was headed for at least. He was not so sure about the Keeper. As they found their way back towards the welcoming light of The Golden Lion, Deshanna only had one other thing to say, “You say you love her, Commander Cullen. If it is true, then you should know that the best way to protect her is by leaving her.”

Cullen kept his stare straight ahead. “If I were to, it would not be because of what you have said.”

As they neared the inn, something had not felt right. There were still echoes of noises from activity, but it was different. It was too loud, no longer jovial. The music had stopped. It sounded like there was some sort of commotion taking place, but they were still too far away to identify the situation. Cullen stopped in his tracks and swung out his arm to halt the Keeper, while the other reached instinctively for his pommel. Then, there came the unmistakable sound of swords clashing together in unrythmic tempos. This was no sparring practice.

Deshanna’s eyes had the same wide alertness as his, and then she whispered his exact thoughts. “Nora…”

Running head first into the fight was never a good idea, there had to be a plan. It was well in the end that Deshanna had the Inquisition’s commander by her side, for Cullen firmly stopped her from emerging in plain sight. Camouflaged by the evening’s shadows, they sneaked up behind tall shrubs, and what they saw was not a pretty sight. Soldiers, some sprawled on the ground either dead or heavily injured, some running about frantically, and the others engaged with fending off menacing Tervinter armours. “Maker, it is a Venatori attack!” Cullen hissed under his breath.

The sudden weight of a hand on his shoulder sent Cullen whirling around in alarm, his sword halfway out and ready to strike. Cassandra’s dire face relieved his action, “Where have you been?” she demanded, crouching low behind them.

“He was with me,” Deshanna replied with all colour drained from her cheeks.

“It does not matter now. What happened? Why are there Venatori?” Cullen said, trying not to panic.

“They caught us by surprise. Our forces are outnumbered and they have already infiltrated the inn. I managed to get away to find you. Cullen, it is chaos in there! The soldiers inside need you.”

“And the Inquisitor?”

The Seeker shook her head gravely. “We have not seen her since it all started. I thought she was with you. Varric and the rest are keeping a lookout for her, but with all the turmoil I’m not sure they can manage…”

Cullen felt a lump in his throat, but he had to force the worse of his fears away. There was no time to get caught up in dread. “We have to find her.”

“If Nora is in danger, I will help in any way I can,” Deshanna offered, and so a plan was hatched. Deshanna and Cassandra would create a distraction to allow Cullen a way into the inn. They would maintain the outer perimeter for as long as they can while he attempted to control the pandemonium from within.

And hopefully, find Inquisitor Lavellan.

On cue, Cassandra let out a war cry and charged from hiding at a group of enemies. Deshanna followed suit, defending the Seeker from behind. With the Venatori momentarily absorbed in battle, Cullen quickly jumped out and pounced for the inn’s broken door. Two armours blocked his path. He ducked, narrowly missing a blade and with a swift blow, he struck one at the legs, bashed the other on the head and pierced his sword through his foe’s chest.

“Go, Cullen!” Cassandra shouted as the Venatori Cullen had knocked down reached for his sword. The Seeker ran forth and bashed his head with her shield. Cullen did not wait to see the blood splatter.

It was chaos indeed. Civilians were being slaughtered left, right and centre. The Inquisition’s forces were desperately trying to defend the innocent, but most of them were not even armoured properly. The Venatori had the upper hand and Cullen watched one of his men fall lifeless to the ground in front of him. He swivelled to one side and lashed his sword out at the assailant. Their swords met with a sharp clang as the Tervinter armour blocked his deadly blow. It was a war of strength as they forced weapon on weapon. Blades slid against each other and with a slick screech, Cullen jumped back just in time before the enemy cut through him. The enraged Venatori took a brusque step forward in a second attempt, but Cullen never missed an opportunity. He swerved and drove his sword straight into his enemy’s ribcage, and the Venatori fell to his knees.

Sparks and daggers were flying around. One could easily get hit with friendly fire. An arrow zoomed pass Cullen’s ear and pierced another Venatori who had caught him off guard. “Thank me later, Curly,” Varric winked from on top of the bar. He had Bianca loaded and was raining arrows down on a cluster charging at him.

Solas seemed capable enough by himself as well, and was having no trouble keeping the Venatori from moving up the narrow stairs, where Josephine stood on top hurling kitchen knives at any Venatori who dared take a first step up. How she managed to accumulate and haul so many kitchen knives upstairs was a mystery. Huddled behind her were a group of servants and patrons who had nowhere to go. “Commander!” she called out. “Where is the Inquisitor?”

Before Cullen could answer, a body crashed into him, throwing him off balance and knocking him against the wall. His head hit the stone and for a moment, his vision went astray. Out of focus, he dropped his sword and as he hurriedly kneeled down to retrieve it, the weight of a shield painfully sent him flat on hard surface. Without a second thought, he rolled away as something sharp stabbed the floor but an inch away. Cullen curled his fingers around the grip of his templar sword and immediately thrusted it upwards, impaling the Tervinter cultist towering above him.

“That was a close one.” Leliana danced by him, flying daggers across the room. She moved like silk, fluid as water, twirling her knives about before releasing them at each target. As she stabbed one in the back, she turned her head at Cullen who had picked himself up, “Find the Inquisitor. She will need you.”

Cullen grabbed a shield off a dead Venatori and hacked his way through the armoured horde. The soldiers, upon catching sight of their commanding officer, quickly found the courage to fight on. There was still not a glimpse or clue as to where his Inquisitor had disappeared to. Fear creeped up his spine. _No_ , he told himself. _She is alive_. And with that belief, Cullen willed himself to plow through the riot, cutting down any Venatori that flanked his way.

When he entered the kitchen, a daunting emptiness greeted him. Pots were still steaming from the stove, bubbles spewing out the sides and sizzling into the fire. Every step he took was cautious, sword positioned and ready to administer any necessary blows. The kitchen was small and broken up by a narrow corridor that probably led to the servants quarters. Alone, he moved steady and silent, making sure to keep his back against the walls as he searched the area. He thought he heard a murmur coming from behind a closed door. Next, came a cry. Nora’s cry.

He grabbed for the knob but it was locked from inside. A loud crash came from within, and Cullen shouted frantically, “Inquisitor?”

“Cullen? Cullen!” It was certainly her. “He’s got my staff!”

With his shoulder, Cullen bashed against the door, desperately trying to knock it down. He propped up his shield and tried again and again. A thundering blast echoed from the other side, another loud crash, and then more screaming from Eleanor. The hinges of the door were coming loose. Cullen continued hitting against it, and with one final kick, he barged in on tumbled shelves scattered across the floor.

Bits of papers were flying about and punctured sacks of flour lay to waste. A bolt of light flew at him, knocking him backwards. Eleanor’s shrieks pierced through the air as he flew to the ground, “No!”

His head was spinning from the force of magic that hit him, but it was not enough to injure him and Cullen quickly got the his feet. The attacker had his attention on him and Cullen recognized his face. He was the merchant who offered the Inquisitor his room. A Venatori spy who had to make sure the Inquisitor spent the night at the inn. Cullen should have realized that a stranger’s kindness was too good to be true. He had Eleanor’s staff in his possession, and the Inquisitor was backed against a corner holding onto a frying pan. She had tumbled the bookshelves in attempts to block the attacker he recalled to be Garin and was now trapped with only a kitchen utensil to defend herself with, which Cullen must admit that she used well to deflect magical blows.

“How did you end up here?” Cullen hurled a heavy tome which caught Garin in the face, causing him to stumble backwards.

“He lured me here!” Nora cried. “The Venatori attacked and I wanted to find you, and he said he saw you in the kitchen.”

“Don’t be so quick to put your trust in others. You should know better, Inquisitor.”

“Where were you?”

“With your Keeper, you know that already.”

“But _where_ were you? You were gone for more than an hour.”

“Now is not the time, Eleanor.”

“I was worried!”

“You should be more cautious about yourself,” he scolded. He would have scolded her more if the false merchant had not summoned a shock wave that was aimed for him. Cullen dived down, dodging the deadly blow.

Disarm him and Garin would be no more of a threat. Cullen charged towards the Venatori spy and swung his blade at Nora’s staff. Upon contact, the staff detached from Garin’s grip and clattered onto the floor. One mighty punch and Garin was out cold. Cullen wondered how he managed to be a Venatori spy at all. He picked up the staff and went over to help his Inquisitor, who had relieved herself of her frying pan. “Are you hurt?”

She gave him a quick hug and he could not help but crack a slight smile. “I’m alright, but your hair is in a mess.”

Cullen’s hand shot up to rake through his hair and he let out a small chuckle. He handed her the staff, “We have to help the others. The fight is still going on outside.”

“What are we going to do with him?” she tilted her head at the unconscious spy.

“He won’t be of anymore trouble. We will need him for questioning later,” he said and took her hand to lead her out of the mess.

As they made their way through the kitchen, shouts from the tavern made it clear that the fight was not over. Both Cullen and his Inquisitor looked to each other. “Ready, love?” he asked gently.

She beamed at him. “With you, always.”

“There is something I must tell you.” Cullen remembered what Deshanna had revealed of Eleanor’s parents. She was not going to like it, but she had the right to know.

His Inquisitor placed a finger on his lips. “Now is not the time, Cullen,” she mocked and on that note, she held up her staff and threw open the door.

Venatoris instantly rushed towards them upon catching sight of the Inquisitor and a stream of light shot out of her staff. For a brief second, Cullen stood in awe as she worked her magic. It almost seemed as if she were made for this. It was her calling. And then a familiar creeping fear slithered its way into his thoughts. The fear that one day, she might die from this fate. Her voice snapped him back to reality, “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help me Commander Cullen?”

He cleared his throat. “Of course, Inquisitor,” and with sword in hand, Cullen stepped forward to resume what had gone far beyond the call of duty- to protect the Inquisition, to protect the Inquisitor.

To protect _his_ Inquisitor. 


	17. Noble

For a boy from Honnleath, Cullen Stanton Rutherford had done well for himself. Small town folk never left home, but he was different. Or rather, he had hoped he was different. When the Templar Order finally recruited him for training, Cullen, young and eager, had thought that it was the beginning of becoming something great. He would make his mark on the world. All the dreams of a young boy with ample drive and high expectations only gave him no reason to expect that glory was just a façade, honour was something hard to come by, duty was not always just, and love… well, love came with a heavy price.

What he was then, he sometimes wished he was now- inexperienced, idealistic, hopeful. It would have been so much easier if he were a fresh recruit with dreams of earning a name for himself, but he had fought hard and collected his scars to climb to where he was today. A templar, Knight-Commander, and now the Commander of the Inquisition- he had certainly built an impressive rapport. Who knew a Honnleath lad could ever reach such heights? Growing up in such a tiny town only granted restrictions. If he had instead chosen to remain with his family, there would only ever be three choices of occupation: farmer, fisherman, or drunk.

Tending to crops was a standard Rutherford family choice of life and had been for three generations. His parents farmed, and so did his parents’ parents, and so did his great grandparents. Conversations around their modest driftwood dining table were almost always about how well the crops were going to turn out for the season- if the corns were golden, if the turnips were fat. It was all excruciatingly boring. Studying Inquisition reports, discussing strategies and sorting out endless piles of Requisition forms were far more entertaining, which was why he never complained. Though, his Inquisitor did once voiced how she never could understand his ability to sit for hours at his desk, “married to your paperwork” was the accurate phrase she had used.

Paperwork was also better than attending a ball. A barn dance was one thing, but an Orlesian ball was something a Ferelden country boy like Cullen could and would never appreciate. The entire thing was ostentatious to say the least. From the moment the Inquisition had entered the golden gates of the Winter Palace, literally everything around them was gilded in ornamental splendor. Certainly all this excess was unnecessary, Cullen thought. Enormous golden lions greeted them, perched atop their thick marble pedestals, but the symbol of their might could not intimidate him so much compared to the flock of eyes dressed in velveteen and silk that bore into the Inquisition as they stared at them, at him, through their golden masks and fluttering fans.

As they do, the nobles conducted themselves in hushed whispers, their critical eyes on them, lips murmuring slyly with every scrutinizing glance. Maybe he was thinking too much. His Inquisitor seemed to be handling all the attention quite splendidly. In fact, she looked almost as if she was enjoying it. Trotting beside him on her great, white beast, she had one hand around her halla’s antlers, the other up and waving at the crowd as they passed. If she was gaining the proper favours by doing so, Cullen would not know. Josephine rode tight-lipped behind them, so he assumed his Inquisitor’s behaviour was either acceptable or their ambassador was too polite to point out that the sort of greeting was inappropriate. He took in a deep breath, as if preparing himself to plunge beneath the waves into deep sea. _Never let your guard down, trust no one,_ he repeated to himself. _Protect the Empress, protect the Inquisitor… protect your Inquisitor._  

“I do so love a party!” her demure voice cooed delightedly as she rode beside him.

“We are not here to party, Inquisitor,” Cullen muttered uncomfortably, fingers clutching tightly around the reigns of his steed. “Focus on the mission. Do not forget that anyone can be a potential threat to the Empress.”

She puckered her tiny lips, pouting back at him. “Someone is in a sour mood. Lighten up a little, would you commander? It is a ball after all.”

“That does not mean we should drop the ball on the task at hand,” he replied moodily.

“Oh, there is no use talking to you!” she huffed and proceeded to continue her version of courteous waving at the Orlesian spectators, fingers wiggling excitedly though not a soul returned even the slightest nod.   

The outer grounds of The Winter Palace consisted of a perfectly manicured Orlesian front garden. Nobles dressed in attire that could feed Cullen’s entire family for a year dallied around the grounds, entertaining themselves with polite laughter and cunning talk. The Inquisition’s mounts had been swiftly ushered away by servants and they were left to mingle, each of them dressed in rich red formal attire. His comrades dispersed, Cassandra planting herself firmly in a far corner, Leliana and Josephine making themselves right at home. Cullen stood a little awkwardly, wondering what in the void was he suppose to do. Instructing forces was what he knew, not operating himself with “the grace and charm of an Orlesian gentleman,” as Josephine so eloquently put. Before he could place where the rest were, particularly, where his Inquisitor was as she had vanished just as quickly as their mounts were hidden, something, or rather someone caught his eye. Cullen found himself gripped in all totality, completely, and he stood rooted, gaping in awe at what he thought to be a shining beacon of light, so stunning, no diamond could match the brilliance that appeared before him.

In the end, Vivienne had decided to take her own advice and went ahead with altering the Inquisitor’s formalwear to something completely different. Looking at his Inquisitor, Cullen had to thank the Knight Enchanter for creating a vision so lovely, she blinded him to every other splendid Orlesian thing around him. When she had disappeared to change into such a stunning ensemble escaped him, but did it matter? She was beautiful indeed. Long trails of translucent silver glittered like a sea of stars as she floated into the garden, and as she stopped to curl her lips into a smile at him, the airy silver slits fluttered in to set on a deep, forest green skirt made of silken fabric. The green hugged her curves all the way up to her modest breasts where a deliberate plunge cut angularly down the middle. A slight flush reddened her cheeks when he did not speak. “What?,” she self-consciously smoothed down her gown. “Do you think it’s too much?”

She glided up to him, the opaque silver jewels taking into the air once more, flowing behind her. Heat pooled and prickled beneath his collar. He could hardly believe such a wonderful creature was his to hold each night. Finally, he cleared his throat. “You- you look… well, I haven’t the words to describe.”

“So, you like it?” she asked. “This dress had better look good because it is very, very itchy.”

Plump lips, tight bodice, hips swaying prominently from left to right, it took everything for Cullen not to pull her in and press her close against his body. Oh, how he would love to rip Vivienne’s masterpiece of a dress right off his Inquisitor and bend her down against the stone bench right over there. He flexed his fingers.

“Yes, very much.” He smiled at her. One thing was for sure, if he had not chosen the path of a templar, he would have never met her.

She was glowing from head to toe, enraptured with all that outward Orlesian splendour. It was a rare thing, almost unheard of, that a Dalish elf would be personally invited to attend such a grand occasion. Though Halamshiral was found by the elven, the Orlesians do not look kindly upon his Inquisitor’s origin. As the Herald of Andraste, Cullen supposed she was the only exception in societal customs across Thedas. “Isn’t it all so romantic?,” she beamed at him. “So gorgeous.”

“Quite right,” he kept his gaze fixed on her green, green eyes and saw her blush.

Slightly flustered with furiously red cheeks, Eleanor bit her lip and quickly looked away. “Yes-- I mean, thank you. I should, umm… get started on collecting my approval points. These Orlesians are a difficult bunch to please.”

“I am confident you will do well, Inquisitor.”

“Being an elf does not curry favour with the nobles. They are reluctant to acquaint themselves with me even though they know I am here under the invitation of the Grand Duke,” she frowned. “They are calling me a joke and that Gaspard shouldn’t have extended the invite.”

“Want me to punch them?” he offered, half meaning it.

She snorted a little too loudly, attracting the attention of a noblewoman who looked quite offended at the sudden burst of impromptu carelessness. Eleanor shrugged her shoulders and giggled, “Well, I can kiss her approval goodbye. What I should be concerned about is how not to start scratching myself all over. How can such a nice dress be so bloody uncomfortable?”

“Chin up, Inquisitor. Time to get to work.” He chuckled and lowered his voice, “We will see what we can do about the removal of that dress of yours later.”

Her lips broke into a wide grin, “Then I had better get a move on. Meanwhile, you can figure out how to get this contraption off me as I have no idea how the servants even managed to put it on in the first place. I will see you inside then, commander?”

He nodded and bowed to his Inquisitor, and before she moved away, he caught the whisper of her voice, “By the way, you look absolutely dashing in that coat, Commander Cullen.”

Back on his own, Cullen kept a watchful eye on Eleanor. She seemed to be doing well, engaging in small talk with a few people here and there, and even helping a noblewoman fish something out of a fountain. With that outfit and her penchant for small talk, she would have fit right in with all the other Orlesians if not for her race. One could call her part human, but Cullen had not found an appropriate enough time to break the news of her parents to Eleanor. The Inquisition had barely survived the attack at The Golden Lion. Though they had won the Venatori, Cullen’s forces had suffered many casualties. None of the key members of the Inquisition had slept last night, save Eleanor who had dozed off under a tree come dawn. He was so occupied with rallying whatever that was left of the remaining soldiers that by the time they had cleared the bodies and buried them, it was time to leave for the Winter Palace.

And how could he tell his Inquisitor that her human father had murdered her elf mother when she looked so radiant, so excited. It simply had to wait. An elbow nudged him teasingly and Cullen looked down to see a grinning Varric, “Watch your face, Curly. You look like a lovesick puppy.”

Cullen kept his arms crossed and grunted while a suave Grand Duke Gaspard glided down palatial steps to kiss the hand of his Inquisitor. Another nudge from Varric and he quickly fixed the scowl that was so intensely displayed across his face as Eleanor graciously accepted the Grand Duke’s hand to be accompanied into the ballroom. And then, her eyes fleeted across the formal roses over to give him one last lovely smile before disappearing into the palace.

As they took their places to be introduced to the court, Cullen straightened his back and stood frigid. To say he disliked having all the nobles’ attention on him was mild. They were soon to know exactly who he was, where he came from, and what he did.

“... and accompanying the Grand Duke, Lady Inquisitor Lavellan. Vanquisher of the rebel mages of Ferelden, Crusher of the vile Apostates of the Mage Underground, Champion of the Blessed Andraste herself.” Cullen would have snorted if Varric had not reacted first.

He caught Eleanor taking a deep breath and wiggle her bottom slightly- something she often did when she was nervous- and the petite elf Thedas called their Herald stepped into the light of the dancefloor with her head held high. The way she moved was of a Dalish grace, silent and agile, a stark contrast from the way she liked to speak, which he now realized bore a similar style to the attitudes of a human from Kirkwall, loud and without much thought.

“Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath. Commander of the forces of the Inquisition, former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall.” That was his cue. It was odd to hear his full name called aloud and his hometown, the tiny village in which he was born, the village in which he dreamt impossible feats. To hear it announced in a place so grand, the son of a farmer would never have expected to stand as a commander in front of a royal court, let alone find it rather daunting.

Eyes fixed straight ahead at the finishing line, he put one foot in front of the other and strided swiftly as he would across the grounds of Skyhold. He tried to imagine two of his officers flanking his sides leafing out reports for him to accept, blocking out the masked eyes of the court scanning him from the elevated floors above. A sigh of relief escaped his lips when it was Leliana’s turn to be presented and he quickened his pace to reach the end where his Inquisitor along with Cassandra and Varric stood waiting. Any moment longer on that marble dance floor and he would have broken into a cold sweat.

Peering down from the balconies of the ballroom, Empress Celene, dressed in a lavish royal blue gown, smiled politely behind her mask and greeted them with all the typical Orlesian pleasantries. A dramatic golden sun fanned out from the back of her gown, decorating the Empress in a manner that reminded Cullen of a peacock. “Inquisitor, your arrival here at Halamshiral is like a cool wind on a summer’s day.”

The way of speech in Orlais was similar to the windy paths of the Frostback Mountains- nothing said was ever direct. Bluntness was frowned upon. Even Josephine who stood next to him was surprised at how well the Inquisitor had chosen to convey the purpose of the Inquisition’s presence in Halamshiral to the Empress. “The weather may turn foul,” Eleanor’s warning mirrored exact Orlesian courtesy and Celene’s eyes fluttered knowingly as she wished them an enjoyable evening. All those lessons from Josephine on Orlesian customs did well.

As they finally exited the dancefloor to the upper ballroom, Leliana had pulled Eleanor aside before Cullen could reach her. He spent the next hour firmly stuck to the walls, trying his best to blend in unnoticably but in vain. At first, he thought he was doing well but in the next few moments, a noblewoman of mature age approached him and behind her, a young lady with curly golden locks piled high like a nest on her head. The older woman’s own hair looked more like a greying bee hive.

“Countess Aida Beaufort,” she offered her hand for Cullen to take with an air of importance. She was decked from head to toe in jewels galore that he could only imagine the weight of so many precious stones to be quite cumbersome. The young lady next to her, slightly less decorated, looked at him through her feathered, bejeweled mask without a word until introduced by her older counterpart. “This is my daughter, Alaine. She is well-versed in all the various forms of art,” the countess chuckled stiffly. “In all areas of art that are important, of course. Last summer, Alaine had the privilege of presenting Empress Celene with a portrait of Her Majesty herself. We were delighted when the Empress chose to place Alaine’s piece in her parlour.”

“My lady,” Cullen bowed politely, confused at why this random woman has decided to tell him of her daughter’s drawing talents. “That is umm… splendid. Very well done.”

“Commander Rutherford, a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” the girl curtsied in rehearsed grace. “Your kind compliment is like a welcome fire on the coldest of nights.”

“... Thank you, my lady.” Orlesians and their metaphors. He tried to think of a reply, but he doubted that “you look like Halamshiral’s treasury vomited all over you” was adequate, which was all he could come up with at the moment.

Her mother was scanning Cullen from top to toe as if she were examining for bruises on an apple. “Alaine my dear, why don’t you invite Commander Rutherford over on the morrow? It is just a little soiree we are having back at the mansion. Alaine will be presenting the new piece she has mastered on the grand piano. We would be delighted to have you join us in the evening’s pleasures.”

“Dear Countess, from the looks of him I can deduce that you are not giving this man much of a choice,” the smooth Orlesian drawl of a richly dressed man as old as the countess joined in. His posture was that of a well-bred bird of paradise, proud and pompous. “Has it ever occurred to you that the commander’s preference of music might lean towards a different tune?” He patted Cullen’s back firmly and for a second Cullen swore his fingers lingered with unusual lightness around his shoulder blade.

“Viscount, what a splendid surprise. How fares the Viscountess? I heard she has taken up a new hobby in horticulture.” the countess smiled petulantly. Cullen knew not why he was in this conversation at all anymore. He wondered if it would be impolite to just walk away, but the viscount’s hand was still planted on his back. How odd.

“Mmm yes, she sends her regards Countess,” the man wiggled his salt and pepper moustache dismissively and turned his attention on Cullen once again. “Commander, is it? I dare say, you are quite becoming for someone of hard labour. You could use a vacation once in awhile. My summer villa is open for you to stay however long you may wish, and whenever. Shall I arrange a visit? Marvelous hunting grounds. You would look all the more agreeable with my rifle in your hands.”

Slightly stunned and still clueless, Cullen darted his eyes from the viscount to the countess to her daughter. They were eagerly waiting for an answer he could not give. Maker, did he wish he was back in Ferelden where conversations actually made sense. Thankfully, Leliana who was watching them from a near distance decided to take pity on him and came to the rescue. She slid in effortlessly and greeted Cullen’s unannounced party of three. “A most generous offer, Viscount De la Roche. Unfortunately, the commander will be held up with his duties to the Inquisition until all potential threats have been eradicated. Also, the commander does prefer to use his own rifle. However, he has once mentioned to me that it is in the possession of another at the moment. Am I right, commander?” Leliana widened her eyes slightly at Cullen and he took it as his cue to simply agree.

“Shame,” the viscount tutted and finally removed his hand’s long overdue stay on Cullen’s back. “No matter, the invitation shall remain open should you wish to accept as you please, commander.”

“As is ours,” the countess added.

“Thank you, but it is quite unnecessary.” Cullen could not be bothered with impractical talk any longer. Let them think of him however they want. He was Ferelden through and through.

“A dance then?” the determined countess suggested. “Everyone says Alaine is a dream out on the floor.”

“Leliana,” Cullen hastily turned to the spymaster. “You have something to report?”

“I do, yes,” she played along. “It is a matter of privacy however. Please excuse us Countess, Viscount, Lady Beaufort. A wonderful evening to you.”

“As you wish, Lady Nightingale.”

Relief washed over Cullen once the invasive nobles retreated. “I don’t own a rifle,” he said to Leliana once they were out of earshot.

“I do believe you were being courted, commander,” she teased. “By both the Viscount and the Countess in representation of her young daughter. Who knew you were in such high demand? We could use this to our advantage.”

“That is ludicrous. What has music and hunting got anything to do with it?”

“A test, I suppose. To reveal your tastes in gender.”

“Oh… So the rifle was meant to be…”

“Yes, quite so.”

“Maker,” Cullen sighed, not knowing if he should be offended or flattered by the notion. He reminded himself to make a quick exit the next time. “Where is the Inquisitor? I was trying to keep an eye out for her until those nobles berated me.”

“I wouldn't call it that. If anything, I would say you are a lucky man. But we know your appreciation lies with fair, Dalish ladies.” Leliana’s cool tone could not help but mock him one last time before resuming business. “Last I saw the Inquisitor, she was headed for the guest garden to explore the palace.”

“It has been nearly an hour. She should be back by now.” A twinge of worry coated his words. He brushed his fingers through his hair and hoped the spymaster had not caught on to it.

As they strolled along the marbled upper decks of the golden ballroom, noblemen and women, both young and old, perched along the polished stone balcony rails took turns approaching them, either out of curiosity or as Leliana pointed out, in pursuit of more colourful intentions. After awhile, he grew adept to politely refusing each invitation to so and so’s ‘tiny’ soiree at so and so’s villa or mansion. Still, Cullen was glad Leliana spoke Orlesian because there were some very strange questions he had not an answer for. Only she knew what to reply to “how do you prefer to ride your mare?”, and someone even had the audacity to make a quick grab at his bottom.

It was going to be a long night.

If he was tense and uncomfortable, Leliana was the exact opposite. She lived and breathed the life of the Orlesian ballroom, conducting herself in a manner that made Cullen believe she could be one of them had she donned a dress and mask. “Let us hope the Inquisitor finds some useful information. We would need all the leverage we can get if we are to determine the outcome for tonight.”

“If she does not return soon, they are going to notice. I will be here. Inform me should you see any sign of her or should any issues arise.” He picked a spot next to a massive glass window overlooking the outer balconies and attempted to look as unfriendly as possible.

“Scowl any harder and they might swoon just as much. Orlesian women take much pleasure in tackling the unapproachable.” Leliana winked before disappearing in the sea of silk.

Thankfully, the nobles who intruded after that had no more such appalling questions. Most of the ladies were in want of a dance, who Cullen refused with a curt, “No, thank you.” However, he slowly found himself growing more irritable with each passing minute as three ladies have taken the liberty to linger themselves around him. They stood unusually close and have started a mingling session, and though he tried to ignore their idle chit chat, he would find himself occasionally obliged to answer a prying question or two.

“Save me a dance?”

“No, thank you,” he snapped tersely.

“Oh.” Eleanor was just as surprised as she looked hurt. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other a little too awkwardly, biting her lip. “That was rather quick.”

Mentally slapping himself, Cullen instinctively moved to take her hand in apology but just as he raised his own, he was reminded that the nosy noblewomen still had eyes on them. Dropping his hand to his side, he sighed and leaned closer to her in a whisper, “I am sorry, I did not know it was you. The evening has been rather tiresome.”

“So you do dance?” his Inquisitor lifted an eyebrow, her big green eyes gazing at him, hopeful.

“I would prefer not to.”

“And what about them?” She cocked her head to one side at the noblewomen perched around him. “You seem to have attracted some attention.”

“Believe me, I have tried. They just won’t leave me alone,” he sighed and discreetly brushed his fingers against hers. “Besides, yours is the only one worth having.”

“Good, because I never did like sharing,” Eleanor raised her voice, louder and deliberate enough for the women to overhear. She shot him a wicked grin and giggled like a little girl when they finally got the clue to scurry off. “There, problem solved. That will keep their gossip goblets filled for the entire evening.”

He rolled his eyes. “I cannot say I agree with your methods, but I am relieved. Where were you?”

Her dress looked slightly dishevelled from its initial immaculate state, probably from all that running around and climbing over things. A small tear ran across one sleeve and bits of loose thread were sweeping the floor from the hem of her skirt. She reached into an invisible pocket and pulled out some papers. “I think I’ve found something. This is a log of some of the palace’s servants’ movements, addressed to Ambassador Briala. There might be some activity going on in the servant quarters. I just have to find a way in.” She was slightly disturbed as she spoke and looked over her shoulder warily to check for any eavesdroppers before continuing, “There is one more thing. There was a trail of blood in the upper garden. I followed it and unlocked this door. Three men were dead on the floor and next to them was some sort of negotiation letter from Gaspard to Celene. The Grand Duke wants to get rid of Ambassador Briala and is trying to convince Celene to do so.”

“I would not trust either of them, but we would still need more evidence if we are to accuse anyone. You should get Cassandra and the rest to go with you this time,” he said. He closed his eyes briefly before opening them to look at his Inquisitor with blatant worry. Keeper Istimaethoriel was right, he had no choice but to send her running into danger at any given time. It was excruciating but it had to be done. He could only ever pray that she would return to him in one piece. Maker forbid, if something were to happen to her, he would never forgive himself. “Be careful, Eleanor. Remember, do not let your guard down. Not even once.”

“Stop making me nervous. I won’t be able to concentrate on killing something if I’m thinking about you,” she half joked, though Cullen sensed she was uneasy. “I’ve always hated solving mysteries. Find them creepy as the Fade.”

“To not fear is a very reckless thing,” he told her, pushing his own fears at the back of his mind. “I wish I could come with you. Maybe I should.”

She shook her head, “No. You have to stay here and protect Celene. I will be fine. Don’t worry your pretty boy head off.”

An hour passed by slowly, with Cullen having to fend off a few more overdressed women. He had decided to stick beside Josephine and her sister so he would not have to talk too much. Bad idea. Yvette Montilyet might not have possessed her elder sister’s gift of diplomacy, but oh, was she a chatty thing. Even Josephine could not get her to shut it. She immediately took a liking to Cullen and despite Josephine’s efforts at controlling her little sister’s big mouth, Yvette, high-pitched and bubbly, never got the hint that all Cullen wanted was to be left alone. “I am so sorry, commander,” Josephine smiled apologetically, a little flustered when Yvette had insinuated an invitation to Skyhold to view Cullen’s tower. ‘“Yvette! The commander is already spoken for. You can give up now.”

Just then, the great room fell into a blizzard of whispers. Two figures had made their way to the centre of the dance floor- one Grand Duchess Florianne and the other, Inquisitor Lavellan. With a change of scores, the orchestra’s violins filled the air with a most classic Orlesian symphony. Hand on the grand duchess’ waist, the Inquisitor led in rhythm under the glittering crystal chandeliers, but it was not a dance of pleasures. Both Cullen and Josephine watched from the rails above at the Inquisitor’s unsmiling expression as Florianne’s lips moved in discussion. “Something is not right,” Josephine said and Cullen could not agree more.

Cassandra was marching towards them with a grim scowl. Just like Cullen, she took no appreciation in balls of any kind and did not seem to notice that she had elbowed one or three nobles while rushing pass. “Venatori are here,” she told them urgently. “We encountered them in the grand apartments.”

“Venatori?” Josephine gasped. “What are they doing here?”

“The question is, who let them in?” Cullen’s eyes darted to a corner of the ballroom where Empress Celene stood with her ladies in waiting. The Venatori could only be here for either Celene, or the Inquisitor.

“We have eliminated the ones we came across, but I am certain there are still more hiding around the palace. Ambassador Briala was also there. She helped us fight some off before attempting to strike a deal with the Inquisitor. Varric has gone to tell Leliana, and Solas is stationed at the entrance in case of any unwanted surprises.” As if they needed anymore surprises. With Gaspard planning to overthrow Celene and a very fishy elven ambassador lurking in the shadows, the high likeliness of a Venatori attack in the palace was not something he wanted added on to the evening’s agenda.

The dance had come to an end, and the Inquisitor was headed straight for them. She had changed out of her gown into the same red formal suit as the rest of them. “Tore it off with Cassandra’s sword. Too bloody,” she stated. “Florianne makes me uneasy. I think she’s hiding something. She claims Gaspard has hired mercenaries and is planning a coup tonight.”

“Why would she turn against her own brother?” There was no sense to it. But, then again when it came to Orlais, Cullen never knew what made sense here anyway. It was all just an intricate web of plots and lies spun for political advantage. It was just as Josephine described- like playing wicked grace but to the death. “Anything else?”

“She told me that the mercenary captain is in the royal wing garden.”

“It could be a trap,” he warned her. “Why else would she give up such precious information so freely?”

Cassandra nodded her head in agreement. “Cullen is right. It would be foolish of us if we go unprepared.”

“Then we will prepare as best we can,” his Inquisitor decided. “Trap or no trap, we still have to find out if it is true. Cassandra, round up Varric and Solas. Josephine, you and Leliana watch over the Empress. Cullen--”

“I should go with you. My men will know what to do. Leliana or Josephine can cue the signal in case there are any signs of threat while I am with you.” It was very unlike him and he could feel Cassandra’s disbelief staring him down from beside. No commander would put his men under the care of another while on a mission unless he is either incapable of carrying out his duties, or dead. Cullen was in neither state. It was clear as day to everyone that his decision did not have anything at all to do with the Inquisition’s mission. Evidently, he did not care.

But Eleanor placed her battle-scratched hand on his shoulder and shook her head. “No, commander. You have to stay here to protect the people. We cannot afford so many casualties.”

What did it matter to Cullen if everyone lived but his Inquisitor died? He knew he should not be thinking like that, but it was the truth. If he was being totally honest with himself, he would give up every single life in the bloody ballroom to keep her from dying. How many blighted battles was he going to send her running into while he just stood there, waiting. For Maker’s sake, Eleanor Lavellan fell into a nug trap while trying to take a piss in the woods! Was he the only one who could see that she was a real person and not an immortal being who fell from the sky? She might be Andraste’s chosen, and she might have survived death twice, but that does not mean she cannot die. “The Inquisition cannot afford to lose you,” he tried to convince her, choosing to leave out the part where he could not lose her too.

“As your Inquisitor, Commander Cullen, I order you to remain in your current position. You are to protect the lives of everyone in this palace,” his Inquisitor said firmly. She tried to give him her most reassuring smile and said again, this time in a softer tone, “I can’t let you come with me.”

She had given him no choice. “As you wish, Inquisitor,” he gritted his teeth and reluctantly gave in, fully aware that he was not to question her decision any further. She was the Inquisitor, and he, the advisor. This was the Inquisition and she was their leader. He reminded himself once more that duty came first, and he watched his Inquisitor disappear out of the ballroom once more.

 

* * *

 

Cullen was restless to say the least. He was not used to feeling like this- waiting for someone to come back. Was this how all wives of soldiers felt when their spouses left to fight a king’s war? He was no wife, of course. Definitely. Yes, they have it worse. Then he thought, was this how his Inquisitor felt when he was out on missions while she stayed in Skyhold? Had she felt the same? And what had he done the last time he returned to their base? Hide away in his tower and then pulled his sword on her. _Very good of you, Cullen._

So far, there was only one occurrence when an elven servant had approached him under the instructions of the Inquisitor. The servant informed him that Eleanor had promised Cullen would provide the girl with protection if she was willing to come forth as a witness and testify to Ambassador Briala’s love affair with the Empress. A worthy bit of information the Inquisition could use against the ambassador in case of an unwanted revolution.

He resumed tapping his foot impatiently on the shiny, marble floor. Again, Eleanor had been gone far too long and he had already caught a few passing whispers commenting on the whereabouts of the Inquisition’s controversial Herald of Andraste. As for interferences of another nature, Cullen had given up on maintaining any sort of politeness, instead opting to immediately excuse himself by walking away without so much as a word whenever anyone he deemed unimportant would try to strike up what Orlais would call an appropriate conversation. Nothing was at all appropriate with discussing about his private parts.

“She seems to be taking her time, don’t you think?” he had his fingers rubbing hard on his chin. Leliana already knew he was uneasy so there was no point in hiding it any further.

“Patience, commander,” was all she said. Yes, he was supposed to remain calm and patiently wait to see if his Inquisitor came back with her head in tact. If they had been in Skyhold and he had been alone with Eleanor, Cullen would have already stormed up a rage and demanded that he and his troops be by her side.

And then Eleanor probably would have screamed something back at him that made absolutely no sense and stomp off in a gigantic tantrum. Most definitely.

Cullen still remembered the day she fell from the breach. He had personally saw the damage done at the Conclave. The Temple of Sacred Ashes was in ruins, bodies of poor souls burnt beyond recognition, the sky torn asunder. Then he had heard that a young elven girl had walked out of the tragedy almost unscathed. She was a funny thing that he did not quite understand- too innocent, too untouched by evil. Eleanor Lavellan had certainly grown up since that day; she was still the same, just a little more clear-minded. Cullen would never have thought that a day so dark such as that would bring a light so bright into his life. Part of a templar’s training meant adhering to the teachings of the Chantry and so, he was always taught that everything was the Maker’s doing. An entire lifetime spent believing that all that had happened to him was what the Maker had planned- all the suffering, the sacrifice, the discipline. Cullen could not help but wonder if his Inquisitor was sent by the Maker to serve a purpose for not only Thedas, but for him as well? Was this His will too, and if so, what was His plan for them? As it was in his nature, Cullen only thought of the worst; that he was to make the ultimate sacrifice and lead his Inquisitor to her demise.

Empress Celene started to move towards the podium, and accompanying her was the Grand Duchess. Cullen looked around but there was still no sign of the Inquisitor or her companions. The evening was coming to an end. If danger were to strike, it would strike soon. He felt it in his bones. If the Inquisitor did not return before the speech commences, Cullen would have to do something. The crowded ballroom was already turning its attention to Celene. Time was running out, and a sickening dread was starting to creep up his spine. “Lavellan, where are you?” he muttered under his breath.

The doors to the vestibule opened, and Cullen spied the Inquisitor slipping in ever so silently. He let out a huge sigh of relief and strided quickly towards her. She had a panicked look about her, and her attire was stained with- _was that demon blood?, Maker!_ He was running by then. “What happened to you?” he demanded but she silenced him with her index finger, panting hard.

“Florianne, she’s working for Corypheus,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “We have to stop her. Signal your men, Cullen. Quick! We have no time.”

“Yes, Inquisitor!” Without another word, he hurried over to where his undercovers were posted. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Grand Duchess standing unusually close to the Empress. He put his men into position. They were to detain Florianne upon any telling sign of an attack.

The speech had begun, and Eleanor was rushing up to where Celene and Florianne were. He did not know what she planned to do but if he were to take a wild guess, his Inquisitor’s course of action was not going to be subtle. Cassandra, Varric and Solas were not far behind. They too had demon guts spewed all over their clothes, as if they had just fought an opened rift. It all started to make sense- why Florianne had clued them in on the mercenary captain, the Venatori’s ease in sneaking into the palace without anyone noticing. She had planned on getting rid of the Inquisitor before moving in on the Empress. A rift inside the Winter Palace; Corypheus’ reach was wider than he had anticipated.

As the Inquisitor moved in closer to Florianne, Cullen nodded for his men to do the same. Something behind Florianne glinted in the light. He noticed one of her hands was hidden around her back. Alarm bells rang through his brain as the Grand Duchess slowly inched closer behind the Empress. He ran, pushing his way through the sea of nobles.

“Grand Duchess, stand down!” the Inquisitor’s cry filled the ballroom just as he reached the front. The Empress’ speech came to a halt and everyone stared in shock, gaping in confusion at the sudden interruption.

That was the cue. His men rushed forward to close in on Florianne. The Grand Duchess’ face grew pale and then into disbelief when her eyes landed on the Inquisitor. Then, the hand she had kept hidden at her back lashed out, slashing at the Cullen’s two soldiers. She stabbed on right in the chest and swiftly slit the throat of the other.

“Now!” Florianne lifted her hand, pointing out to the crowd. “Kill them all!”

Venatori agents emerged from hiding at all corners. A scream, then several more, and then the entire ballroom was catapulted into a pandemonium of horrified shrieks and nobles dropping to the floor one by one. Cullen’s hand reached for his pommel but grasped air. He did not have his sword on him. He charged, bashing into a Venatori. Swiftly, he swung an arm, landing his fists on the enemy’s face. There was an unpleasant cracking sound of a jaw and Cullen immediately pried the sword off the fallen Venatori.

Florianne had fled jumping down the outer balcony. Eleanor ran by him, staff in hand. “Cullen, protect the people!” she shouted before jumping down after the Grand Duchess.

It was a bloodbath. Defenseless nobles running aimlessly about, piling onto the bolted vestibule doors like flies to a carcass. Out of every shadowed corner came Venatori agents. Cullen’s grip tightened around his stolen sword and he started to hack his way through the chaos. “Knock down that door!” he ordered his men. They had to get as many people out of what became a madhouse.

But the Inquisition’s forces stationed in the ballroom were too few in numbers, and the men he had inside were engaged with an overwhelming swarm of Venatori. It would take time for them to kill off the enemies. He did a quick scan, and spotted Leliana and Josephine protecting the Empress at the opposite end. It was up to Cullen to get that door to open.

A flash of eerie green light bathed the ballroom. He turned sharply at the outer balcony, unsure if it was demons or from the Inquisitor’s green mark. When there were no rifts, Eleanor only made use of her mark as a last resort, he knew that much. Regardless, every time she used it, the mark drained a huge portion of energy, leaving her weaker than before. Either way, she was in trouble. His head swivelled from the balcony to the door piled with a stampede of desperate nobles and back again at the balcony where the Inquisitor had jumped off after Florianne.

His Inquisitor’s instruction was for him to protect the people, yet Cullen’s legs could not move towards the vestibule doors. Every fiber in him was screaming to run to her side, to aid her, to shield her. He wanted to. Andraste guide him, the more he waited, the more people died. The more he stood torn, the longer he would be at war with himself. He was the commander of the Inquisition, he had a duty to his people. The Inquisition was built to protect the people, not the Inquisitor. What was he thinking? He could not leave them to die.

_Do not lose sight,_ he smacked himself back to his senses and rushed towards the vestibule doors. A group of Venatoris blocked his path. He bared his teeth and plunged into battle.

It had felt like forever. Fighting without an armour was not ideal and he was almost struck by a Venatori if Leliana had not come to his aid. Finally, they had managed to knock off the door handles and the nobles went flooding out, fleeing for their lives. He was lucky he had stationed the more experienced soldiers within the ballroom. Some were lost, the rest injured but still standing. The Venatori numbers were successfully reduced to almost nothing, but the fight was not over. His Inquisitor had yet to return. He could still hear the dreadful sounds of clashing swords and bursts of magic echoing from below the balcony.

“Leliana, watch over the Empress.” He wiped the dripping sweat off his face and started towards where his Inquisitor had disappeared from sight.

A firm hand grabbed his shoulder from behind. Leliana was not smiling when he turned to face her. “I know you want to help her, but we have to stay,” she said.

He yanked his shoulder from her grasp. “We have done our part here,” he almost snarled. “I’m going.”

“Commander, I am not going to remind you of your duty to the Inquisition!” Leliana swerved in front, blocking his way.

“Get out of my way, Leliana,” he warned. Cullen could feel his blood start to boil- out of all that pent up frustration, out of his inability to keep his Inquisitor from harm's way.

“You heard the Inquisitor,” she insisted. “We are to stay here.”

“I am not going to ask you twice,” he shot her a deadly glare. “Step aside, or I will have no choice but to remove you.”

“If you think I am afraid of you commander, you are mistaken.”

“Move, Leliana!”

“I cannot do that.”

His hands started to twitch. The incredible urge to fling the spymaster aside was overwhelming. He gripped the hilt of his sword hard, the pressure vibrating through his weapon like spurts of flames. Leliana’s eyes widened as she instinctively reached for her daggers. A gasp broke their glares and the both of them turned to see a horrified Josephine, hands cupping her mouth. Immediately, Cullen let go and his sword fell with a loud clang on the blood-stained marble floor.

_What was he doing?!_ Suddenly, it was clear. He had not known it before, but it was evident from the moment he stepped foot into the Winter Palace. Paranoia, anger, reclusiveness, the symptoms were all there. The withdrawals were acting up again, he just had not realized it.

He felt sick in the stomach. How could he ever have believed that lyrium’s hold on him would go away so easily? It had not reared its ugly head in so long, in so many nights that he actually came to believe himself cured. He was a fool to think that his demons would leave him so simply.

“I am sorry, Leliana. I don’t know what came over me.” He hung his head low and offered no more explanation.

The spymaster raised her shoulders in a heavy sigh and lowered her daggers. “I am sorry too. I know your intentions mean her well. We have lost many lives today, it is understandable you do not wish to lose her too.”

Loss. Cullen wanted to scoff but he remained silent. If there was one thing the Inquisition’s spymaster did not know, it would be the extent of his loss. Was his repentance of the past not enough to plead the Maker’s forgiveness? Were his sins to have him lose everything in the end?

He decided that keeping himself occupied was the best thing to do and quietly moved through the greasy crimson marble floor, pushing aside dead Venatori with his feet, bending down to check the pulses of Orlesian nobles lying still. They did not look too haughty now that they were were in a mess of fresh scars and broken limbs. Some were wailing in agony while others sobbed in shock. Among the injured was the Countess who had tried to set him up with her daughter. She was slumped against a pillar, bloody and unconscious. Her lavish dress was in shambles, mask gone, but he recognized the grey beehive, now crooked like an unbalanced cake. Cullen pressed two fingers onto her neck and was strangely relieved to feel the slow thumping of her pulse.

A half dozen bodies later, he found the young Lady Beaufort with her throat split open. No innocent being, no matter how pompous, should deserve to die in such a way. He closed his eyes for a brief second before shutting the poor girl’s, putting her to eternal sleep and tried ignore the disturbing thought that Lady Beaufort looked just as young as his Inquisitor. What men he had still standing was ordered to help the servants remove the deceased from the ballroom.

Meanwhile, Empress Celene and her cousin Gaspard came out of it all with barely a scratch. Josephine and Leliana had certainly done a good job protecting them. Cullen wondered if the two royals would do the same for their defenders. The servants had ushered both the Empress and the Grand Duke away to their private quarters. Gaspard was still in shock at his sister’s treachery and Celene, well, she was a very difficult one to read. She had held her head up high and quietly exited the aftermath with such poise that one would have thought she had not noticed the blood and bodies everywhere.

“Is everyone alright?”

His heart skipped a beat. Cullen along with the others peered up to find their Inquisitor limping into the ballroom. Eleanor Lavellan had a deep gash of bright red across one cheek, the tip of her staff in hand was reduced to splinters, but her smile of victory told everyone that the battle had finally ended. “Did we manage to save the Empress?”

He blinked, and without a second thought, he ran as fast as his feet could carry him to pick her up into his arms. “Oh!” She stared at him in surprise at the sudden display of affection in front of the other Inquisition members. He did not care.

“You’re back,” he held her close, lifting her feet into the air.

“Of course I’m back, silly. Why wouldn’t I be? I thought we’ve gotten past all that me running away from the Inquisition business,” she laughed airily, face stained with blood splatters of all kinds. She pointed her finger at Josephine and Leliana, “Does this mean we are telling everyone about us now?”

He did not want to cry, so he laughed. “I was worried.”

“You are always worried, what’s new?” she planted a kiss on his cheek. “There, no turning back now that everyone has seen proof of us.”

“There are many rooms in the Winter Palace, I suggest you get one,” Varric remarked from behind.

He set her on the floor and took a step back, rubbing the back of his neck like he had just been caught stealing coins from his mother’s purse. “Where is Florianne?” he asked, determined to change everyone’s focus.

“Alive and being detained by Cassandra and Solas. We didn’t really know what to do so I kind of smacked her head with a rock so she would not cause any more trouble until the Empress decides her fate,” she answered as if it was perfectly admissible to hit someone unconscious with a rock. Given that the Grand Duchess did try to wage war on Orlais, he supposed it was alright.

It took more than a few hours for the Inquisition to help clear off the gory details of the ballroom. The Inquisitor had refused to get some rest, instead she insisted on making another round about the palace to check for any remaining Venatori. She then gathered Celene, Gaspard and Briala to force them into a truce. No more plotting and scheming against each other, at least for the time being. Apparently, while snooping around the palace, the Inquisitor and her party had come across more than a few scandalous bits of information and she would hate to have to tell the entire Orlais of the secrets she had uncovered. As a reward for saving Orlais and securing her reign, Empress Celene promised the Inquisition military aid in the upcoming fight against Corypheus.

In typical Orlesian fashion, Celene declared that the ball continue as promised. Servants were ordered to strip down the bloody curtains for fresh ones, and to polish the marble until it shone spick and span. Once the bodies were cleared and the injured taken to the royal medic, nobles who had managed to escape unharmed fluttered back into the ballroom like nothing had ever happened. Save Leliana and Josephine, the rest of the Inquisition was baffled to say the least. Personally, Cullen thought they were mental. He supposed he had seen weirder things, the weirdest being his former Knight Commander turned into a rather grotesque red lyrium statue. It was a week before any of the templars dared to remove Meredith’s statue from below the steps of the Chantry. Last he had heard, her contaminated corpse was said to be still in the Gallows.

A cheerful melody filled the ballroom like the chirping of birds on a sun-filled morning, but Cullen looked around the once again gleaming palatial space and only saw the battle scars that were there before. He spied Eleanor Lavellan in conversation with a woman who looked strangely familiar out on the balcony. Curious, Cullen made his way towards them. He was in need of some fresh air after hours of breathing in the coppery stench of blood. Just as he pushed open the glass doors, the woman his Inquisitor was talking to swept by him, and Cullen could have sworn he had seen her before, somewhere, perhaps a long time ago.

Eleanor Lavellan had her elbows resting on the stone rails, watching the sun go down a purple sky. He shut the balcony doors and went to wrap his arms around her waist. “Everything alright?” he murmured, kissing her head softly.

Still in her tattered formal attire, she turned to face him with a sad smile. “Many died tonight. I know I should be more affected by it, but I’m glad you were not hurt. Am I a bad person for thinking that?”

She pressed her wounded cheek against his chest and shut her eyes. Gently, he stroked her hair while she hugged him tight. “If it is wrong, I must confess to being guilty as well,” he told her. “I know it is foolish of me, but I was very worried for you tonight.”

“Leliana told me.”

He took in a sharp breath. “Really? What did she say?”

“Oh Cullen, would you just relax,” she gave a small laugh. “All she said was that you were very tense up until I finally appeared.”

“Tense… right.” His insides sighed in relief and he mentally thanked the spymaster for choosing to leave Eleanor out of their near fight.

“And to think I was a little jealous the whole night.”

“Whatever of?”

It was always obvious whenever the Inquisitor was shy, for her cheeks would flush a bright rosy pink. Unlike Cullen, she never could hide her feelings very well. “You had a lot of rich and pretty noble ladies around you throughout the evening. Before I came out here, Josephine’s sister asked if we were really involved romantically. Well, Varric was right, all that jealousy did help in killing off the Venatoris more efficiently.”

“Inquisitor, you can’t be serious!”

She shrugged. “What? I was complaining too much so Varric told me to shut it and channel it all into striking down our enemies. I didn’t expect it to work so well. And please Cullen, stop it with the Inquisitor nonsense now that we are finally alone.”

“I can’t say I agree with this unorthodox method of yours…”

“You can’t say you agree with anything I do all the time.”

Arguing with her was the last thing on his mind, so he decided to give in and left it at that. They’ve had a long night and all he wanted was to leave Orlais and go back to Ferelden, the sooner the better. Music wafted through the glass doors, a slow and simple symphony he had once heard a bard sing in Kirkwall’s tavern many years ago. The sky had turned a royal blue and little stars peeked down from the heavens above. His Inquisitor’s head swayed gently to the rhythm as a cool breeze blew strands of hair from her porcelain skin. Despite what had happened, it was a beautiful night. He was not going to end it on a bitter note.

“I may never have another chance like this, so I must ask,” he gently let go of her to step back into a bow. He extended his hand to a surprised Inquisitor, “May I have this dance, my lady?”

He would never forget the look of delight on her face in that moment she accepted his hand. “Why commander, I thought you didn’t dance?”

“For you, I’ll try,” he whispered, pulling her in close as their lips met.


	18. Shallow Breaths

The Frostback air was just as crisp and icy as when they had left it. Tiny patches of sunlight circled the grounds of the ancient fortress, bestowing slivers of warmth to all who passed underneath its beams. It was one of Skyhold’s sunnier days and Nora couldn’t be more relieved to be back within the confines of the age-old Tevinter bricks she now called her home. Halamshiral was spectacular; she had never seen such vulgar displays of wealth before; but unpretentious Ferelden was where she belonged. After all, it was where life truly began for her.

Being back in Skyhold was like sipping on a bowl of hearty home-made stew, exactly that when the kitchens had prepared druffalo tail soup for the Inquisition’s first meal upon returning to their stronghold. Nora had taken hers with the soldiers in the Herald’s Rest. Without the troopers, she did not think they would have survived the Winter Palace so well. Besides, it was always intriguing to listen in on all the gossip circulating the barracks. Stick around a little longer and eventually a loose tongue would give up a juicy tidbit or two about one of her inner circle members. She especially loved hearing the ones about the Inquisition’s steely commander- what farfetched stories they were. She wondered if Cullen would share the humour if she told him that his men believed their commander had slayed a lion, devoured it raw and made its mane into the armour he now wears. Probably not.

Nora stood in the lower courtyard and twisted the massive Inquisitor sword with both hands, the smile on her lips fading. It was easily twice the size of her.

“My, don’t you seem awfully cheerful today,” came Dorian’s smooth Tervinter drawl as he claimed a spot beside her. She had not seen her friend in weeks and the sight of him was a welcome support she was thankful to have on this day. Ever since she had returned, Nora had not found the time to catch up with her friends. An evening holed up in the tavern listening to bartender Cabot’s grumblings was something she had been looking forward to while on their grueling journey home. It was not meant to be so, for as soon as she had finished her welcome meal, reports upon reports flooded in by the masses and the next few days was spent tirelessly addressing what seemed like endless operations in the war room. Her Tervinter friend observed the crowd that was slowly gathering onto the courtyard’s patchy grass. “Am I the only one who finds it disturbing that people here take pleasure in witnessing such a gruesome demonstration?”

“Restoring the walls and wheeling around supply barrels all day is not particularly exciting for the refugees,” she said as both of them stared at the makeshift wooden stage in front. Three recruits were carrying a heavy wooden block and had plonked it down right in the centre of the stage. One of them was even checking to see if it was wobbly. Both Nora and Dorian snorted in unison. As if that was going to make a difference.

“So…” Dorian’s tone switched to a lighter note. “On the brightside, a little birdy told me that - ”

“Dorian, you don’t need to refer to him as your little birdy. I know it’s Varric.”

“Fine, take the mystery out of it if you wish. Varric told me you and your strapping templar had quite the display of affection at The Winter Palace,” he quipped. “Will we be seeing anymore public kisses from the two of you in Skyhold? It would be so endearing to watch.”

She gave a tense laugh but kept her focus firmly on the thick pommel barely encased by the grip of her tiny hands. How had she ever managed the pick it up the first time? “Good luck getting him to do so. I would think he’d rather strip naked than to indulge your fancy.”

“Now that would certainly be a sight to behold. A far better one than this, that is for sure,” from the corner of her eye, Dorian flashed her a devious grin that told Nora he had cooked up a rather brilliant idea.

“Dorian, no.”

“Why not?” his neatly trimmed moustache jerked up as he pouted pleadingly. “Let’s have some fun. We can finally loosen up his deliciously tight bottom. What is the worse he can do? It isn’t like your templar is going to strike you down with his sword.”

Nora fell silent. Her own already overly heavy sword in hand suddenly felt like it had increased in weight and she trailed her stare down to the tip, trying not to imagine her own blood trickling from the silver blade. Everyone had questioned how she wounded her hand- why the wound looked deep? what happened? if they could help treat the injury- and the story she had went with was along the lines of her tripping down the her quarters’ stairs. Hardly believable as it was obviously a weapon wound, but no more questions were asked and that was good enough for her. Finally, she managed to look up at her friend, “Dorian, I’m scared.”

“I know dear.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and for a moment, they stood in silence staring at the stage. Then he chuckled to himself, “Besides, the kitchen girls would like to know if his ‘lion’ is as massive as the one he slayed.”

She gasped. “You heard about that?”

“My dear Inquisitor, _everyone_ has heard that story.”

The grounds of the lower courtyard were packed by then. The show was about to begin and the people- Skyhold’s soldiers, refugees, staff, visitors- were huddled in fervor conversation of what they were going to be witnessing. It was grim anticipation, excitement even. In the near distance, the commander was striding purposefully towards them with the same rigid expression he had been wearing on his face since leaving Halamshiral. Dark circles rimmed his eyes from hardly any sleep, and on this day, he looked all the more tense than his usual uptight self. He acknowledged her with a curt nod and took his place next to her directly below the stage. “Inquisitor.” He scanned her briefly, “You look nervous.”

“Cullen.” She examined the unshaved bristles on his chin, his less than usually neat slicked back hair. His forehead was laden with beads of sweat trickling down the sides of his temples. Unkempt hair, unshaved beard, he was roguishly handsome. “Couldn’t be better. Thank you for asking.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he crossed his arms as if not believing a word she said. “If I may say so, I still do not agree with your decision.”

“As I recall, you were the one who advised this course of judgement in the first place.”

“Yes, but I had meant for it to be me who executes it.” He sighed harshly, shaking his head. Deep creases on his forehead told Nora that if he did not start smiling more often, her mercurial commander would be stuck with having the most unapproachable face in all of Thedas. “There are other ways to set an example, Inquisitor. Other more temperate ways befitting your status.”

“My mind's made up,” she replied stubbornly. “Anyway, I don’t need you to do my dirty work for me.”

“I am simply looking out for you,” he insisted

“That is highly unnecessary. I can look after myself, thank you.”

“If you think so, then fine. Have it your way.” He pressed a finger on a twitching temple and said no more, but still remained rooted by her side. Lately, she had noticed that he had been moodier than usual. To be frank, they had hardly spent any time together since returning to Skyhold. While she was busy being brought up to speed on all pending operations, Cullen had been preoccupied with overseeing the training of Skyhold’s new batch of recruits. At nights, she would be too tired to do anything else and would often fall asleep the instant she her body hit the sheets of his bed. Cullen would still be up, finishing off the mountain of paperwork on his study. Come morning, she would wake to find him already inspecting the battlements with Knight-Captain Rylen who had returned for the time being from the Western Approach. They have not even had any time to strike up an argument with each other, up until now.

“Ah, commander!” Dorian poked his head out from Nora’s left. “Good to see you back from Orlais. Why the long face? Smile! Isn’t the weather splendid? Such a marvelous day for a beheading.”

But Cullen was not in the mood for witty remarks on this day. He merely grunted without so much as a sidewards glance at Dorian. Nora herself was too busy being preoccupied with her hands, which have started to tremble. Early this morning, without the necessity of Cullen giving her a pep talk- or more accurately, a lecture-  she had already done so by telling herself over and over again that she could do this. She could. It is just a small thing. Rather than fret over her ability to go through with it, she should think of it as just another task needed to be carried out.

Yes, that was what this was. A simple, minor task.

“Inquisitor- ”

“Not now, Cullen. I need to-” she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, opening them once more. “Focus.”

“They are bringing her out.”

At first, the heavy tinkling of shackles was barely audible through the noise of the crowd. But as seconds passed, the dull clunk of metal against metal grew louder until the prisoner appeared, head hung low above the stone steps of the courtyard. She was dressed in soiled rags, dirty and moist from having spent a week down in the fortress dungeon. Commander Cullen had personally seen to it that she was locked in a very special cell. One that had a view of where the wooden floors gave way to a deadly drop down rapid waters. It is arguable that a quick death would have been kinder than having to spend a week in that part of the dungeon, for all of Skyhold’s prisoners who had the luck of occupying one of those wet, piss-stenched cells were driven to madness from the thunderous churning of waters falling downwards an endless oblivion.

Apparently, it was his way of repaying Florianne for her attempt at killing Nora, twice. None of the soldiers dared question their commanding officer as he mercilessly shoved the title-stripped Grand Duchess into the worst cell at the very end, where the floorboards was reduced to only a couple of pathetic planks that might or might not fall apart at any given time. In that one week, soldiers who were stationed in the dungeons would not hear the end of maddening wails and soon, a horrifyingly disturbing sound that went _thud… thud… thud!,_ like something not too hard banging against stone _._ By the time someone dared to check on the Duchess, she was sitting on the fine line between sanity and lunacy, crouched in a corner muttering things that made no sense.

Armed soldiers escorted the disgraced noble down the steps and up the stage. Her face was marred with patches of blood, both dry and fresh, staining her once pristine complexion. The corners of her lips turned up as she was led to the wooden block in the middle. The crowd fell silent.

Nora swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “When this is over, I think I’ll need a drink. Maybe five.”

“Only five? I will need ten. And I’m not even the one chopping her head off,” said Dorian.

Once she laid eyes on the Duchess, it had not taken Cullen much more effort to talk her out of it. “It is not too late. If you feel uncomfortable, just say the word and I will do it for you.”

“If I let you do it, I will be going against my word,” her refusal came in shaky halts. His offer was so very tempting. “The people are here to see their Herald put down her enemy. The Dalish already lack belief in me, I don’t want my people to do the same. Besides, this is a good opportunity to show them that I can wield a weapon other than my amazing archon staff, which by the way, I’ve just added a masterwork grip to, thanks to Harritt. Maybe they won’t think of me as just another mage grasping for power after this.”

“Inquisitor, you don’t even like swords.”

“Good point. This thing is incredibly heavy,” she let the Inquisition blade fall into Cullen’s strong, calloused hands. Nora was not even sure if she could lift the bloody thing, let alone decapitate someone’s head with it. Killing Venatoris and bandits out in the open world was no problem because they would have killed her anyway if she did not do it first. But cutting off a prisoner’s head in front of an audience was a whole new level she was unwilling to reach.

With no effort at all, Cullen lifted up the sword to rest it against an armoured shoulder. His metal-clad legs marked the soft ground with heavy footprints as he started to stride up the stage. Not a hint of remorse could be seen in his indifference. It was as if he had done it a thousand times before and this was just one of those days. His thick, sharp voice boomed through the grounds, “Grand Duchess Florianne, you stand on judgement here today for crimes of terrorism. You have been found guilty of plotting against Orlais and Thedas, whereby the punishment is death. Do you have any last words?”

Nora watched Florianne tilt her head up slowly, the sinister smile still displayed for everyone to see. She cackled lowly, “Fools, all of you will die sooner or later. There is no stopping Corypheus’ wrath.”

The soldiers brought her to her knees. Her head was positioned on the block when she lifted it and her eyes bore down the stage, straight at Nora, “Good day Inquisitor. I am surprised you are not the one up here instead. You are as I expected, a coward, and you will die a coward.”

“That is enough.” Cullen snarled and shoved her head back down. He raised the sword he so effortlessly held in hand and placed the blade on her neck, marking it. Within seconds, he had the sword up high in position, ready for the killing blow. A ray of sun glinted against the clean blade before the sword came down-

“Wait!” Nora heard herself shout.

The sword came to an abrupt halt, just inches away from spilling blood. She could feel a hundred stares from the crowd on her back. Cullen looked at her with wider eyes, as if asking her what in the bloody hell was she doing. His lips did not move, still set in a grim line and neither did he move the sword away. It stayed frozen, hovering above Florianne’s neck.

“Wait,” she said again, this time more firmly like she had intended. Slowly, she forced her legs to move towards the stage, step by step until she reached to place her hand on the Inquisitor blade Cullen held. “Commander, give me the sword.”

The look he gave her was enough to send any demon running back into the Fade. They were in front of an audience and he could not protest against her will. After a long moment, he reluctantly lifted the sword away and handed it to Nora. The weight of the pommel fell into her grip and she steadied the massive thing with both hands. Cullen stared at her silently and crossed his arms. He was not going anywhere. _Stubborn twat,_ she thought and heaved the sword up. She could feel her arms start to shake as she pooled in all her strength to raise it higher and higher.

Breaths steady, focus on the blade, she began, “If this is your last wish, Grand Duchess, you will have it. Now.. goodbye.”

The sword came down with all the force she could muster. There was a dull thud as she felt the blade hit wood. Blood, dark and fresh, splattered onto her face and covered the floor. A head rolled into view. Nora stood frozen, staring at Florianne’s lifeless eyes. Her mind was blank. Everything around her came to a pause, like the world had stopped working. The crowd was no longer there, and there was only silence in the haze. It was as if she was standing alone in an empty space, just her and all that red.

Nora could not pinpoint the precise moment when she finally started to feel someone shaking her. Everything suddenly seemed to move in slow motion. Cullen had his hands on her arms, he was telling her… something. It was like her ears had been blocked off and all there was were the muffled sounds of Cullen’s voice. The sword was no longer in her hands. The head was still staring back at her, swaying gently back and forth in a growing red pool.

“Inquisitor…” His voice seemed so far away, as if he was calling to her from across the Waking Sea. After that, it was like waking up from a terrible dream. At first, it was the deafening crowd. She blinked. Once, twice. Then all at once, she found herself crashing back into reality.

“Inquisitor!” she blinked again and it was Cullen she first saw. He was not shaking her anymore. Instead, he had his hands tightly supporting her stand, his eyes searching hers for signs to tell him she had come back from her daze. She darted her gaze from him to the crowd, to the stage. And it was then, as she was met once again with Florianne’s bloody, motionless head, that she realized she had felt nothing for the decapitated Grand Duchess.

“I-I’m fine.” She let Cullen release her, stumbling slightly before regaining her balance.

“Of course you are, love,” he whispered softly and held out his arm for her to take. “It is over now. Time to get going, shall we?”

“I’ll need that drink,” she said he led her down the stage.

“As you wish.” He nodded for Dorian to clear a path for them. Another nod and both Cassandra and Varric started to dissipate the crowd. No one was to approach the Inquisitor as they headed straight for the tavern. Cullen had let go and fell close behind her, barking orders for his men to immediately clean up and dismantle the stage.

When the smooth, bubbling ale of bartender Cabot’s in-house brew gushed down her throat, bittersweet and fresh, Nora was finally able to breathe. Cullen was tapping his foot impatiently as he sat, arms crossed, on the bench across the table from her. He was hardly the type to while precious time away with drinks and unlike some of the other Inquisition members, including Nora, who enjoyed a relaxing evening with brew and banter, the commander’s regularity in the tavern was only ever close to none. In their company was Dorian and Varric, who had made themselves right at home. Already there was a running bet between them about what would happen to the dead Duchess.

Of course, the commander had strictly refused to take part in both drink and bet. A man who denies pleasure in such activities would have no business being in a tavern, and Cullen’s presence only made a place of merriment seem like a complete waste of time.

“Better?” he asked when she had gulped down every last drop from her pint.

“Much.” Smacking her lips in satisfaction, Nora proceeded to call for another pint despite his obvious disapproval. Frankly, if he was going to be like that the entire time, Nora would rather be left alone with the mountain of drinks she was planning to fill her belly with. “You know, you don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to.”

“I am not doing anything I do not want to,” he replied with a straight face and she could not help but roll her eyes.

She took a swig of ale before offering her glass to him. “Here, have some. It will relax you.”

“I don’t need to be under the influence of alcohol to relax.”

“Honestly, you don’t look like you are having a whole lot of fun,” she said.

“Who says I am not having fun?” he leaned to rest his back on the stone wall, as if the gesture was a demonstration to prove he was right where he wanted to be. “How many of those do you plan on having?”

“Maker, Cullen. That is not what someone says when he is having fun.” She was almost ready to give up on him and demand he leave her be if he was going to be such a party pooper, when he gingerly picked up her mug to take the tiniest sip.

“You are right. This is a complete waste of time,” he said and unwillingly took another sip, his face all screwed up like he had tasted something bad instead of juicy, bubbling ale. “But since I can tell you wish to remain here, so shall I.”

Nora smiled at him, feeling her heart grow soft. Her commander could be kind of sweet after all… in his own way.

“Yes!” Dorian chirped, clapping his hands in delight. “Looks like I won, dwarf. That’s ten sovereigns. Now, cough it up.”

“Did they just put a bet on me?” Cullen did not sound too pleased.

“Get used to it,” she said, laughing.

“This is ridiculous.”

“Hold your Venatoris, Tervinter.” Varric held out his hand, putting a stop to Dorian’s triumphant glow. “We have one more bet. Let us see through it first and then we’ll talk coin.”

“Have it your way then.” Dorian turning his disarmingly dapper smile at Nora. “Inquisitor, my dear, pray what do you intend to do with the poor Duchess now that she has lost such a vital bodily part?”

“You seriously want to do this after we just chopped someone’s head off?” Cullen stared at them incredulously. “Next thing you are going to be telling me is that you want her head on a pike… Maker, you want her head on a pike, don’t you?”

Nora pouted her lips at him innocently. “It would be quite a sight. Come on Cullen, the woman tried to kill the entire Winter Palace. Oh, I have an idea! Let’s deliver her severed head to Corypheus.”

“Well, shit.” Varric chuckled and produced a bag of coins for Dorian. “You got me this time. Who knew you could be so ruthless, Quiz.”

“Looks like she’s had a few lessons from our commander. As for other more private lessons, I’d be happy to pay for a little templar love,” Dorian nudged Nora with an insanely devilish grin.

The commander’s jaw dropped open. He stared at Nora and her company like they had grown two more heads. “That is not- absolutely not!-- Eleanor, you didn’t tell them, did you?” and when she could only shrug her shoulders sheepishly in reply, it was a wonder he was not stomping off then. He slapped a hand on his forehead, “Maker, is this what you get up to during your spare time?”

“I’ll give you some tonight,” Ironbull’s deep voice sang from across the floor like a baritone horn, causing Dorian to roll his eyes and plead for everyone to ignore the statement.

“Oh Dorian, no amount of coin would suffice. You will just have to settle on being left in the dark... with Bull,” she winked and raised her glass. “Now, shut up and drink.”

“This is hardly appropriate conversation,” Cullen started to protest but the three of them were already toasting in fits of laughter, ale spilling all over the table. All the while, he sat stone cold, unable to share the humour. He seemed to have momentarily blocked off the laughter and was staring at the small puddle of ale on the table, his mind anywhere else but the tavern.

A deliberate cough turned the table’s attention to a young recruit who beared a sealed envelope in his hand. He bowed ceremoniously, greeting each tipsy Inquisition member before handing the report to his very sober commanding officer, who immediately tore the seal open to inspect its contents. “Ser, dispatch for you from Wycome.”

“You ordered your men to deliver reports to you while you are in a tavern? Who does that?” Nora asked, slightly appalled with his inability to stop working.

He had already dismissed his recruit with a sharp nod and was deep in concentration studying whatever was written about Wycome. She supposed she could not fault him for his relentless work ethics. He was, after all, trying his best to enjoy what she enjoyed. Thankfully, he does not order any reports to be delivered while they made love.

“It is called time management, Inquisitor. Something you lack severely,” Cullen replied, not taking his eyes off the report and Nora could hear Varric snort a laugh in the background. She watched her commander’s eyes dart from left to right, scanning through the letter with mass efficiency, his expression growing more dire by the second. The news was certainly not good. When he was done, Cullen took a long moment to close his eyes, and when he opened them to look at Nora, his graveness told her she was not going to like what he was about to tell her. He stood up and walked over to sit beside her. The party went silent. He paused before gently placing his hand over hers, “Inquisitor, I am so sorry…”

“I don’t understand,” she frowned and took the letter from Cullen. She recognized the familiar handwriting belonging to her Keeper. It was short, with words that looked like they were written in a hurry.

 

_Da'len,_

_I know not whether this will reach you. The Duke of Wycome is dead, and the soldiers of Wycome blame us. All the elves in the city have been killed, blamed for some plague that only strikes down humans. Now they hunt us as well._

_Most of the clan is already dead._

_Live well, da'len. You carry Clan Lavellan with you. They are coming for us._

 

“Dead?” Nora felt her heart sink to her stomach.

The word vibrated in her head like a sickening echo. Images of aravels burning, of young children screaming, flashed in front of her eyes. Her clan was extinct, and she, as Inquisitor, had done nothing to help them. A surge of molten anger burned through her veins, to the tips of her balled up fingers. She banged her fist hard on the table.

Her voice was low, rigid, brimming with fury, “Kill them. Kill them all.”

“Inquisitor…”

She banged her fist again on the table, her breaths heavy, furious. “Did you not hear me? I order your men to march on Wycome immediately!”

“Clear the tavern.” Cullen did not have to say it twice for Dorian and Varric to jump on instructing the gawking patrons to retire from their drinks. When the last of them had exited The Herald’s Rest, Cullen nodded for her companions to leave as well. Dorian lifted a finger to protest but was quickly ushered away by a more understanding Varric. The tavern door swung shut, and they were alone. Her commander pulled her closer and took her hands in his, gently rubbing her throbbing knuckles with his thumbs.

“You know I cannot do that, Eleanor,” he said, quietly

She yanked her hands away.

“They went on a slaughter spree in my clan’s settlement. I will not stand by idly and ignore this! Now, you are going to instruct your soldiers to kill every last noble in Wycome immediately. That is an order, commander!” she demanded shrilly.

“Eleanor, your mind is not in the right state. You need time to grieve. We can think of a suitable course of action when-”

“A suitable-- Cullen, they are dead!” the thought of her entire clan lying lifeless in their own pool of blood made her want to scream even more, but hot tears had started pooling in her eyes, escaping down her cheeks, betraying her anger.

The Inquisitor was not suppose to cry, but even in the fire-lit tavern, Nora’s body was trembling. Her eyes looked up to him, begging for him to give her strength. A wall of tears blurred Cullen’s features and it was like looking at him through stained glass. It was odd to her that even in her current state, she could still find herself thinking he looked so handsome. But, it was far better than picturing the limp bodies of her elven brethren. The brush of his hands on her face was warm, and he wiped away the tears from her damp cheeks.

Ever so gently, he pulled her into his arms. The soft of his fur mantle blanketed her face in a comforting warmth. He stayed silent, calmly stroking her hair until her broken sobs died down.

“Breathe, love.”

“They are gone, Cullen...” she said in shaky whispers.

“We will find them,” he told her. “Your Keeper is a smart woman. We will find her and the other survivors, and bring them back here.”

“Pain, suffering, will she ever know happiness… I cannot give it to her...” Cole’s low, haunting murmurs drifted by them like a tortured soul. The boy had appeared at the foot of the tavern stairs.

“Get out, Cole!” Cullen barked, though Nora was not sure if he meant for Cole to leave the tavern or his mind.

Probably both.  

Nora’s palms slid down the cold steel of her commander’s chest plate, lightly lifting herself away to gather her thoughts and pull herself together. Cole should not see her like this. She was lucky the green mark on her hand blocked his ability to see into her mind. She was not sure if she would like him reading the sordid details of her thoughts.

As usual, Cole’s eyes were hidden underneath his pointy, wide brim hat. Nora was almost certain he had been lurking in the shadows all along, listening in on them. Clearly, he did not seem to heed the commander’s request for privacy, and continued his creepy mind-reading on Cullen. In wispy floats, he inched closer to them, head hung low so only the tip of his nose onwards was visible.

Barely moving his lips, he spoke again. “Strong - I must be strong… for her - for us… I can’t tell her, not yet. Lies… I don’t want to lie.”

“Cole!”

“It’s alright, commander. She will forgive you,” the boy said in an unnervingly calm demeanour.  

At this point, Cullen had had enough. He stood up and took hold of Nora’s hand to drag her up the tavern’s three flights of stairs, leaving Cole behind. On the top most floor, a rickety wooden door would lead them out to Skyhold’s battlements. A strong gust of wind blew at her, drying up the streaks of tears on her face. Breathtaking views of the Frostback greeted them; miles and miles of jagged, white capped mountains and icy terrains.

On some nights when she stayed at over at Cullen’s and he was still occupied with work on his study, Nora would hoist herself up on a weathered merlon just outside his tower to gaze up at the millions of stars in the midnight sky. It was a sight to behold.

Sometimes as she lost herself in the twilight, she would almost forget about the mark on her hand, about the Inquisition, and she would feel like a normal girl again. If Cullen had finally decided to retire for some sleep, he would come out to join her, and they would share moments of precious silence underneath the blanket of stars, just the two of them.

Bleak was always the nature of their future together, but in those times, everything ceased to be and it was a wonderful feeling indeed.

“Cullen...” Nora could barely keep up with his pace, but he kept on going.

“Cullen, stop!”

He did not say a word.

They passed by a few recruits on duty. Each of them addressed them respectfully, and not one questioned why it was that their commander was dragging a puffy-faced Inquisitor at his heel. It was not until they descended some steps into a small open gorge overlooking the fortress’ courtyard did Cullen finally stop to let go of her.  

He spun her around and pressed her against the low, stone barriers. His deep-set hazel eyes; steely and focused; met her own. “I’m sorry… It was Cole,” he spoke at last. “He got under my skin.”

Nora understood exactly what he meant. “If you think I’m going to ask you about what Cole said, well, your thoughts are your own.”

However, she did wish he was not standing so close to her. That intoxicating blend of his heat together with the icy breeze was making her delirious. What was it about him that always melted her heart like the warm glow of a hearth? Even in the most devastating instances, she still found herself entranced by him.

Naturally, Cullen did not seem to share her similar effects of their close proximity. “Are you sure?”

In truth, she had had a rather difficult morning and would very much prefer for the rest of the day to go uneventful. Forcing things out of Cullen was also never a particularly enjoyable task. “You can choose to tell me in your own time; or not - suit your fancy.”

The rigid tone in his voice disappeared. He looked all of a sudden, relieved for not having to provide an explanation to Cole’s depiction of his thoughts.

“I am sorry about your clan,” he said, quietly. “I will do my best to find them. I promise you.”

She found herself tracing his chiseled jawline, and her hands suddenly ached to feel the rough bristles of a growing beard he had yet to shave. Somehow, she preferred him like this- a little unkempt. Then again, she would never be able concentrate on anything since it only made him all the more distracting.

_Oh dear_ , she was not suppose to be thinking all these things. Especially not when she was suppose to be mourning over her potentially dead Keeper.

“Eleanor, are you alright?” As if he could not be any more closer, he leaned further in.

Her body jolted, bending backwards over the battlement.

“Oh - yes… perfect!” she blurted. “I mean… Maybe- just- could you back away a little? Just a little… please?”

Sharp as ever, he looked at her with amusement and then, slowly, the corner of his lips curled up slightly into a devastating lop-sided smile. Obviously, he had realized exactly how he was making her feel. A gasp escaped her when he suddenly slid his hands around her waist and a swift tug pulled her in so the tip of her nose was brushing against his exquisite mouth.

“We shouldn’t…” His breaths were hot against her skin.

No, they should not. But, neither did they pull away. His arm around her waist tightened, fingers digging into her hips, and a knee pushed her thighs apart, lifting her toes from the ground. At the same time, his free hand was already sliding up her neck to catch her chin, bringing her lips to meet his.

She was about to lose her mind.

“Cullen…” she breathed, helpless.

“Just say the word, love.”

This was so wrong. But, it felt so good.

“Cullen… I want-- ”

Everything became a blur; a series of scenes that flickered by in the blink of an eye. Cullen picking her up… the battlements flying by… the door of his office tower thrown open… Cullen barking at his lieutenant to get out… and they were alone. A mountain of tomes and papers came crashing down, and her back hit the edge of the commander’s sturdy mahogany study. The sound of ripping cloth sent her robes into a pile around her hips, and after that, the clanking of heavy metal armour one by one.

He was bare and beautiful, dipping down to claim her mouth, forcing her hands behind to support her backwards bend ontop the study. Rough hands gripped at her thighs, moving inwards, spreading them apart, making way for his hips in between. She felt him pressing against her, hard and throbbing.

His kiss was was masterful. The taste of him in her mouth was exquisite. The heat of him was indescribable. His tongue swirled inside her, urgent. Full of need. It was sheer perfection. Absolutely, amazingly wicked.

A hand slid up from her thigh, all the way up, and he wrapped his fingers firmly around her breast. Sighing into him, she let herself give in to his control, savouring every bit of his unyielding embrace, incredibly weak. Vulnerable.

He tore away from her mouth, leaving her wanting more.

“Time to make you forget,” his voice was dangerously low, sending tingles down the tips of her toes.

_Oh, dear, Maker._

A high-pitched gasp escaped her when he pinched her nipple and pushed her body down on his desk. Her back slammed on the smooth wooden surface and in the next moment, he had his weight supporting her legs, spread out up in the air. His hand slipped under her bottom, forcing her hips up, arching the curve of her back higher, propping her feet on either side of his shoulders.

Needless to say, the position he had gotten her in was least of all innocent. She was completely exposed, giving him a wonderfully clear view of… well, everything. Whereas, the only view she had was the ceiling of his tower.

The sudden swipe of his finger along her aching, wet center sent her crying in shrill delight. He did it again, and again… and again, her cries growing louder each time. Her stomach tightened like a rigid spring of coils. Such delicious torture.

“You like that?”

Her breaths were already ragged, and he had only just begun. All she could manage was a pathetic whimper, “Yes…”

“Good girl.” Now was not the time for nice and easy. Then again, rarely anything was nice and easy when it came to Cullen. Strategy and brute force was always his game, and that was exactly how he was going to play it.

Two fingers pressed down on her, circling her, teasing her, taunting. Eyes shut tight, she moaned in absolute pleasure. His pace grew faster... faster. She panted, hard and quick. Her hands stretched out, clutching the sides of the study, holding on to her last shred of sanity.

Just when she thought she was about to give in to sweet release, his finger, two, slipped inside her. Deep. Deeper.

“Ah!” She bit down on her lip, fingernails digging into the carved desk edges.

He rocked back and forth inside her, driving her mad with desire. Everything he did, every move he made, he knew just how to make her tick.

“Cullen…” she panted. “Cullen, stop!-- No, keep going… Oh, Maker!”

She wanted, needed more.

But he was not about the stop there.

The view of his tower’s ceiling vanished, replaced by sandy hair and a painfully exquisite face. He had her in sitting position now, all hot and flustered. Her eyes travelled down his muscular, abs, landing on his rock hard…

“Cullen, please…” She begged, licking her lips unconsciously.

He gave a low laugh. “Don’t worry, I am not done with you. Not yet.”

Cullen lifted her, strong hands sweeping beneath her thighs, spreading them wide, spinning them both around until her back was against air. He leaned his weight against the desk and let her body come down slowly to meet solid steel. He settled her at the very brink. Teased her with a little twitch. A little thrust. And then he helped her fall, impaling her, and catching her scream in his mouth.

He kissed her. Maker forbid, his mouth was on fire and his tongue tempted and teased and sought out everything inside.

He tasted like peppermint, all fresh and hot and tingly, and she would have been mindless to the action going on further south if it was not for the utterly fabulous way he was moving in and out of her and making her body tremble with need and desire and want.

“Too fast?” he whispered against her lips.

“Never.”

“Not enough?”

She laughed. “I can never get enough of you, Cullen.”

He thrusted into her again. “I could say the same of you.”

One second she was on top of him, the next he had her flipped around, bent down, breasts flattened on the study and was taking her from behind. He was moving hard and fast and nonstop inside of her, driving her to the brink again and again, refusing to stop when she begged him to, because he knew just by the sheer pleasure in her moans that the last thing she wanted was for him to call a halt to such bliss.

He flipped her around again and moved himself on top of her. He dragged her ankles around his neck and before she could open her mouth to beg for more, he plunged in hard and deep, slamming against her in full force, making her take every inch of him, dragging from her new purrs and moans and sighs. He slid one hand between them, touching the slick, moist heat between her legs, swirling his middle finger over her most sensitive part, driving all her thoughts away except the pleasure of his relentless touch.

Sharp coils of heat shot through her like flaming arrows, sending her mind reeling, intoxicated. He was merciless, making her body convulse and writhe and beg for more. She clung to him, her fingers burying into the muscles in his back, holding him close as he drove into her again and again.

The pain was sublime. Again, he captured her mouth, taking hold of her, reducing her cries to laboured breaths, his own husky and ragged. Her toes curled, tense, thighs quivering as he pumped inside her in a grinding, full-bodied rhythm, each time just as deep as the next.

“Cullen, Cullen!” she cried his name over and over again.

Her head was about to explode.

“Almost there,” he growled, holding her tight, driving forward until her pants, her moans, became indistinguishable from his. One more thrust, and another, and another.

She could barely breathe anymore. Her insides were burning, tensing, tightening. Each sensation was dizzying, so intense as he powered over her with heated force.

She felt his muscles tense. Her own clenched.

And all at once, they came undone in a mind-numbing cry of sweet release. Slowly, his body sank down on hers, making sure not to put his full weight onto her. He kissed her softly, sweetly and wiped away the trickle of perspiration trailing down the side of her forehead. “Alright, love?”

She peered up at him from ontop his desk, still weak from all the bliss, trying to slow her pounding heart. He had certainly done an excellent job in making her forget about the morning. “I feel guilty for saying this, but I feel amazing.”

He laughed and pulled her up along with him. “I don’t think I will ever be able to look at this desk the same way again. Not without imagining you on top of it.”

“And what are you going to do about that?” she trailed her eyes down to his hand, still tucked between her legs.

“Well, that… I would like to keep it there for a little while more, if you don’t mind,” his handsome face struck a cheeky grin.

A sudden rapping of knuckles on his tower’s door caught them by surprise. Thankfully, one of them had remembered to lock it.

“WHAT?” Cullen yelled at the door. “I am busy!”

A muffled voice from outside seeped through the cracks. “Commander, you said to find you if anything urgent were to arise.”

Nora stared at Cullen, appalled. “Really, Cullen? While we are making love?!”

“I didn’t know we were going to- _Shit!_ ” he was already fumbling for his clothes, hastily pulling on his breeches. He stepped into his boots by the corner and shoved his armour behind his desk. “Get dressed. They cannot see you like this.”

“Cullen, you ripped my robes apart.”

“ _Shit!_ ” He handed her one of his cotton tunics before slipping into one himself. She wondered how she was ever going to exit his tower now without everyone knowing exactly what they had been up to. They certainly had not thinked things through.

“Commander?” the voice called out again.

“Come off that desk, love.” Cullen took her hands to help her down before rushing to open the door.

“WHAT- IS- IT?” he demanded, refusing to let the man at the door take a step further into his tower. “I swear, Rylen. You have the most impeccable timing. This better be good.”

“Well, I really don’t know what to make of it, Ser.” Nora recognized the Knight-Captain’s tattooed face peeking out in front of Cullen. She could not claim she knew the man much, but he was a good man. The only time she ever had dealings with him was when Nora and her party had claimed Griffon Wing Keep for the Inquisition in the Western Approach. Rylen was then assigned as commander of the fort and would coordinate reports from the Inquisitions agents in the area.

He spotted her and gave a quick, polite bow, seemingly unfazed over the fact that she was in Cullen’s tunic with the hem dangling just above her bare knees. “Inquisitor, it is good to see you.”

“Hi, Rylen!” Nora waved at him cheerfully from behind Cullen’s stretched out arm blocking the doorway. “I trust the problem with darkspawn is all settled?”

“Thanks to you, Inquisitor, the lot of them are gone. There are still a few of them left, but nothing the men at the fort can’t handle themselves,” he said politely over Cullen’s shoulder.

“Out with it, Rylen!” Cullen barked, growing impatient.

“Ser, there is a small group of elves by the gates. One... Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel, claims to be of clan Lavellan, the same clan as the Inquisitor. She is demanding to see the Inquisitor as soon as possible.”

Nora gasped. “My Keeper is here? In Skyhold?”

Deshanna was alive.

“She is waiting for you in the lower courtyard, Inquisitor.”

“Escort her and the others to the main hall and have her wait there. The Inquisitor will meet with her as soon as she is ready.” Cullen said to Rylen before closing the door. He turned to Nora, just as astonished as she was. “Well, looks like she found us before we could find her.”  
  
“ _Shit! Shit-Shit-Shit!”_ was Nora’s immediate reaction. She clapped her hands on her face, panicking. “Cullen, she can’t see me like this. I’m not wearing any pants!”


	19. Friends

Josephine Montilyet might enjoy the finer things in life; pretty gowns, family treasures, decorated balls; but she was certainly not an airhead. She may not be as intimidating as Cullen, as fierce as Cassandra, or as sly as Leliana, but she was certainly resourceful. The raven-haired Antivan beauty knew just how to use her charm to pave the path she desired, and that included getting herself, and others, out of particularly tricky situations with little damage as possible one could incur when stuck in a muddle. She was not the Inquisition’s ambassador for just having a pretty face. So, it did not come as a surprise to her when she was approached by the Inquisition’s Commander, asking of her a very odd little favour.

“Oh, my!” she had said upon laying sight on Nora after finally agreeing to let Cullen rush her to his tower. “I certainly understand your vague explanation of the matter now, commander.”

A barely dressed Nora smiled sheepishly at her from across the room, shrugging her shoulders. “Good day, Josephine.”

Both Nora and Cullen had already gone through all possible ideas that would not involve anyone, but there was none. Cullen had refused to order one of his officers to go fetch new robes from Nora’s quarters. He wanted to prevent any more scandalous gossip further tarnishing the Inquisitor’s good name and also, it would not look too well on him if his men knew what kind of ‘work’ their commanding officer was busy with in the late morning. When Nora had suggested for either Dorian or Varric to procure the appropriate attire from her quarters, Cullen had objected to acquiring their help as well, stating that the last thing he needed was another running bet on his personal life. Cassandra was also out of the question, because well, they both knew exactly why not, and certainly, without any doubt, not their spymaster.

As for Cullen himself obtaining new attire for her, having the Inquisition’s commander exiting her quarters and crossing the throne room with clothes that would unmistakably be recognized as belonging to the Inquisitor herself was absolutely out of the question. Vivienne had made it a point to ensure the Inquisitor’s wardrobe was very much distinguishable in both design and in status that her daily attire was meant to portray. Even if Cullen had found a way to sneak into her quarters, Deshanna would be in the throne room, and would have him cornered the moment she spotted him.

So it was that Josephine was their safest bet, and not a bad one. Frankly, she was the closest chance they had on keeping a lid on the current predicament. In order to get to her, Cullen had to take a massive detour down the battlement stairs outside his tower leading to the lower courtyard, cross it, then take another flight of stairs up to the kitchens, make his way through the staff hall- which was also where the Inquisitor kept her collection of vintage wines and whiskeys she had collected from her journeys across Thedas- and take yet another flight of stairs to reach Josephine's office, and then drag the ambassador back on the same route in order to avoid crossing paths with Deshanna.

Nora, on the other hand, had happily stayed put in his tower, both relieved and excited over the fact that her Keeper was alive and had managed to find her way to Skyhold. But first, Nora had to change out of her commander’s cotton tunic which barely provided cover pass her thighs.

“I am not even going to ask,” Josephine shook her head, staring gobsmacked at the state of Nora and her naked legs. She then handed over a freshly folded set of clothes to Nora, “Here. You were lucky I was still on the last line of my letter to Count Allmond. I was going to welcome your Keeper after that.”

“I can assure you, this will not happen again,” Cullen said apologetically.

“In the interest of us all, best it not.”

The outfit Josephine had picked from Nora’s wardrobe was a set of formalwear in a nice shade of gold that Vivienne once described as ‘a brilliant sunset descending into a cerulean lake’.

“Seeing as you are going to greet your clan for the first time in Skyhold, I thought this might be suitable for the occasion,” Josephine said with kind eyes.

“Couldn’t have picked it better myself,” Nora hugged the clothes to her chest gratefully. “Sorry about all the trouble. Cullen can be quite rough at times- ”

“The details, I do not wish to hear,” she held up a finger, stopping Nora from explaining how her former clothes had ended up ripped down the middle and in a pile on the floor.

Well, it was certainly obvious what had happened. Cullen’s assortment of belongings were still strewn around the floor, his study’s tabletop empty and crookedly astray from its usual positioning. Nora instantly regretted that she had not thought of at least gathering the parts of Cullen’s armour that lay askew behind the study; bits of metal were peeking out from the corners of the desk. Josephine had only to walk around the study to find out… well, one more thing was not going to change what Josephine had already deduced.

Thankfully, the sultry ambassador was not one to ask too many questions. Instead, she kindly told Nora to go up to Cullen’s poor excuse of a bedroom on the floor above while they waited. Cullen’s bedroom, or rather lack of one, comprised only of a modest double bed that could barely sleep two decent sized humans. The only reason Nora and Cullen could fit into it during the nights she slept over was because, by nature, Nora’s elven figure came small, and Cullen rarely slept at all anyway. The floor that housed his bed was accessible only by a single ladder which stood near the entrance, and it was no more a floor than poorly sanded wooden boards nailed together onto beams to make a sort of half second-level for his tower.

Not that Nora ever minded. It was not so much the lack of bedroom he had as what they actually got up to there that never warranted a single complain out of her. Besides, whenever they lay in a tangle of limbs underneath the sheets, they were always treated to a lush view of leafy branches poking through the hole in the ceiling above. Despite the countless of times Cullen has declared about eventually fixing it, he never actually got around to doing so.

As Nora finally slipped out of the tunic, she could hear a rather awkward conversation about the weather taking part downstairs between the commander and ambassador. As far as their relationship went, Cullen and Josephine only ever spoke when it came to matters regarding the Inquisition. Out of war council meetings, neither of them ever had a reason to visit each other’s workspace as their individual job scopes sat at two very different ends of the spectrum. Cullen dealt with soldiers, and Josephine dealt with nobles.

She started to climb down the bedroom ladder to join them and was met with a couple of relieved faces, bringing to a halt their dry conversation. Josephine nodded at her approvingly while Cullen fixed her with a rather amused glint in his dark hazel eyes.

“Very impressive,” Josephine said in that exoctic, Antivan accent of hers- distictively pronoucing each and every syllable- and walked over to help Nora with her sash.

“Maybe someday I will be able to carry it as well as you do with yourself, Josie,” Nora said.

Josephine’s chuckled airily, “I am sure the commander will beg to differ, Inquisitor.”

Nora looked over at Cullen and he flashed her a discreet smile. He then proceeded to begin collecting his things from the floor one by one, starting with bits of loose report papers sprinkled about here and there. They were not about to be doing it any time soon on his study no more.

“Since I am here,” Josephine continued, finishing up the sash. “I would like to propose that we have a grand feast tomorrow evening for clan Lavellan as a hospitable gesture from the Inquisition. Hopefully, your clan will feel more welcome here at Skyhold.”

An evening feast; Nora mulled over the idea for a moment. The Inquisition had hosted a handful of feasts at Skyhold in the months before. They were nothing short of grand- endless arrays of canapes, lit candelabras, various concoctions of spirits designed to leave one tipsy at the end of the night, musical numbers and performances- and Nora wondered if Deshanna and the rest of her remaining clan would find it... excessive. The Dalish were, after all, simple creatures born into a modest way of life. They take honest pleasure in things such as a successful morning hunt,  splashing about in a clear stream, and gathering around a warm fire pit to listen to Dalish stories. Of all the elves in clan Lavellan, Nora was the only one who saw the world in a different light and dared to dream of what life could be beyond it.

But Josephine had already grown excited over the change of Inquisitions banners to Dalish ones. As she smoothed and patted down the creases of Nora’s attire, the diplomat in her was presently deciding which shade of forest green the draperies should be to remind Nora’s clan of their home. Surprisingly enough, Cullen had not voiced a single objection, which was strange because like the Dalish, Cullen was never one for big parties. He was almost always absent during all the past grand feasts, only ever appearing for a quick bite before retreating back to his tower to continue working. Perhaps it was because this particular dinner party involved far less nobles and emissaries.

“Sure, why not?” Nora agreed, failing to see any harm a feast could bring besides a few disgruntled elves complaining about _shem_ culture. They were going to eat the food in the end anyway.

“Excellent! I will begin making preparations at once,” Josephine clapped her hands together in delight, waved goodbye and floated out of the tower in a cheerful mood.

“Right then, now that all is settled, time to go meet my Keeper.” Nora pulled at the lapels of her sunset-gold jacket, feeling blessed that she need not walk out of Cullen’s office dressed in only his tunic. The day had certainly took a very unexpected turn- first, a beheading, then a grave letter; amazing, mind-numbing sex, and to top it off, a very much alive Keeper. With Deshanna now in Skyhold, Nora only hoped that the tide would not change too soon. She decided to keep the thought to herself. No use getting anyone worked up over what could be, and better to focus on the now. She turned to Cullen, “You’re coming too.”

He was just about finished with all his stuff previously on the floor, and was now obsessively rearranging stacks of papers and tomes at their exact positions from before he had knocked it all down to slam her onto his study. Without looking at her, he shook his head and continued to fiddle with the placings of his feather quills. “That might not be such a good idea.”

“Don’t be silly, my Keeper loves you!”

“Eleanor,” he warned.

“Oh Cullen, don’t tell me you’re scared of her?”

“I am _not_ scared of-” he started to protest and was met with her pouting face. A long sigh escaped his lips, “Fine.”

As Cullen reluctantly walked with her out his circular tower to the battlements, Nora had a bright idea. She spun around, grabbing his arm, her face lit up. “Plan- let’s bring Dorian with us! He can work his magic on my Keeper, and maybe that way, you won’t piss her off all that much.”

“You do know she does not like me just because I am human, right?” he said grumpily. “I offend her just by existing.”

“Well, maybe not just because of that. You did beat up our warleader too,” she pointed out.

The Lavellan clan’s warleader Alras, had always been viewed as somewhat of a symbol of strength in the Lavellan clan, and because of that, he always had this air of importance floating about his head. All of the Lavellan girls would talk about what an honour it would have been if one of them were to bond with him. Nora begged to differ, but then again, her taste in men did differ so very greatly from the rest of them. When Deshanna had broke the news to Nora that Alras had expressed his intention to bond with her, Nora had been less than excited to say the least. She knew Alras had chosen her purely for her title as the Keeper’s First, and the last thing she had wanted was to end up as some trophy for him to dangle about in front of the other Lavellan men. When Cullen had dragged him out of The Golden Lion and gave him what he ultimately deserved, Nora had felt no guilt for Alras’ smug face had finally gotten what it deserved- a good smack.

Surprisingly enough, Cullen agreed to her proposition for Dorian to join them. Perhaps it was because he had also thought it would be best if he did not have to talk to Deshanna any longer than was necessary. Having Dorian there would mean that any kind of attention would be less focused on him, for Dorian would willingly claim all of it.

Cullen had mentioned that he had passed Dorian by while enroute to Josephine’s office via the long way. Dorian was heading up the steep battlement stairs as Cullen was climbing down, looking as if he was in a hurry to get somewhere, but Cullen had not bothered stopping to ask. Though, he did notice- and noted this to Nora- that Dorian did seem a little jumpier than his usual suave manner. According to him, Dorian would usually throw out a witty one-liner or two whenever they chanced on crossing paths, and as usual, Cullen would ignore him. But on this day, there were no witty remarks or clever words, and Dorian had only acknowledged him with a simple “Ah-commander-splendid-day-after-all-well-toodle-loo-then!”, and had proceeded to scurry up in quicker steps.

They walked side by side along the grey-stone parapets, deciding to try one of the other many towers Skyhold owned. Each of its square shaped turrets spiralled up so high into the misty clouds, and coupled with the sharp, cold winds, made the fortress towers’ summit look like a death sentence. So much so, that seasoned recruits who were stationed on the top for the night- to watch for signs of rogue dragons or a potential archdemon- knew full well to wrap more than just one layer of thick fur around themselves if they were to survive the night duty. Each of the towers were joined to the ancient battlements which spanned a vast perimeter, encasing the inner parts of the fortress, ending at an empty watchtower that Nora intended to turn into a Circle at Skyhold despite Cullen’s constant persuasion for her to refurbish it into a templar keep.

With the exception of Cullen’s tower, every other one was either empty or housed a pile of junk- broken beds, stacks of unsanded driftwood, paintings with a hole tearing through the middle- yet to be cleaned out. Because most of the unoccupied towers served only as a passing point for anyone walking the battlements, some of the Inquisition members would use them to conduct short discussions- normally in a party of only one or two- that usually required a certain amount of confidentiality. Thier spymaster Leliana in particular, favoured utilizing the spaces to exchange information with her agents when she wanted a change of scenery from her usual spot in the rookery.

They reached the first tower closest to Cullen’s to find it empty save for a rodent picking at a stale bit of what looked like bread. The moment they opened the door, casting a thin bar of light upon the floor, the mouse scurried away under a crooked lampshade. More measly crumbs were scattered in a corner. Someone had been feeding it and Nora was not surprised if that person had turned out to be Cole. Come to think of it, he was probably where they were, only invisible, watching them like he always did. She chose not to tell this to Cullen who had thought nothing of it and was already proceeding across to the opposite door. The commander never did take much of a liking to Cole’s unorthodox methods of getting to know someone.

“Eleanor-” Cullen started to sound hesitant, his eyes tense as if he was holding back on something. “There is something you should know- Deshanna told me- I should have told you but-”

But Nora was already distracted with something else. “Do you hear that?”

They had stopped right outside the second tower. A strange grunting sound came from behind the door, coupled together with a rhythmic dull thudding, like someone was trying to nail a large plank of wood onto a stone wall. Nora looked at Cullen and by the puzzled expression on his face, he had heard it too. They lingered for some time outside the tower, pondering on the noises inside until the intervalled rapping of wood came to an abrupt halt, and there was a silence.

“Something is not right,” Cullen said, keeping his voice low. His hand was already instinctively reaching for the pommel of his templar sword, strapped around his waist.

By then, Nora already had a strong inkling of what was behind that door. If she had known any better, or if she had been any quicker, she would have stopped Cullen then and there, but the point in the matter was that she had not. It was already too late, because by the time she had opened her mouth to say the words, “Cullen, I don’t think-”, an unmistakable shout- similar to the likes of someone who was being attacked- emitted from within.

Cullen kicked at the door. It swung open, slamming against the wall behind.

The sight before them was, indeed, not the kind of scene they were expecting to see, least of all for Cullen. Even before she had a chance to register it in her head, Cullen’s palm was already covering her eyes, shrouding her view in darkness. Nora had only a glimpse of what looked like two male bodies contorted in a most improper manner; one of them, she was sure, was Dorian bent on all fours underneath two thunderous calves the size of tree trunks. Still, it was enough to paint a picture.

“Oh-Sweet-Maker!” She heard Cullen cry in shock.

“Cullen, how’s it going?” Iron Bull’s deep voice rang in her ears, confirming whose calves were standing above Dorian.

“For the love of- I thought I told you to lock the doors!” snapped another voice, clearly belonging to Dorian.

Despite Cullen’s insistence on maintaining her blindness, Nora managed to pry his fingers off her face. Dorian was no long bent down and had already thrown his robes over himself. He sat sheepishly on the edge of a slanted bed, his hand covering half his face. Iron Bull, however, did not seem to mind the intrusion all that much. He winked at them from where he was stretched out on the broken bed, fully exposed except for a certain part which, thankfully, was blocked by Dorian’s body. Cullen on the other hand, looked absolutely horrified.

“I am- so sorry…” he managed to say, sounding like a little boy who had gotten caught red-handed stealing apples from his neighbour’s orchard.

But Nora had a very different reaction to it all. Her finger shot out like an arrow, pointing straight at Dorian. “I KNEW IT!”

“Urghh…” Dorian grumbled with distaste, throwing his head to the ceiling. “All this effort, gone to waste.”

“I told you _Kadan_ , she would find out sooner or later,” said Iron Bull as-a-matter-of-factly.

“Would you stop calling me that in front of company!” Dorian scolded.

Iron Bull merely shrugged his enormous grey shoulders and scratched at a giant scar cutting through his chest; fingers the size of Nora’s entire palm scraping against freshly dried blood. Big, bulky and beastly- those were the words to describe the Ben Hassrath Qunari that lay stark naked on the broken bed; which explained the weird knocking sounds they had heard earlier on. Cullen was strong, but it was safe to say that nobody would dare mess with Iron Bull. For starters, the thick dragon-like horns curling up in replacement of a scalp on his head suggested that if he had wanted to, he could actually impale a poor soul with them.

If a mage and a templar relationship was out of the ordinary, nothing can begin to describe this unlikely union of Dorian and Bull. It was not so much because the Qunari and Tevinter have been at war since the Llomerynn Accord, but more so to do with the way they looked together. Dorian was a dapper lad with thick curls of jet black hair and smooth olive skin; charming and very handsome. Bull was three times his size, scarred from head to toe, with brutish muscles and solid horns where his hair was suppose to be.

Yet oddly enough, Nora found herself grinning at them. “Well, isn’t this just lovely! Isn’t it lovely, Cullen?”

“I beg to differ.” Cullen still had his arm up shielding his eyes from the view.

“Does Varric know about you two?” She asked.

“Why do you think he wouldn’t bet with you?” Dorian replied.

“Are the two of you...”

Dorian rolled his eyes, “If you insist on knowing, yes.”

“Ah-ha! Called it, didn’t I?” She tugged Cullen by his sleeve. “Didn’t I once told you I suspected they were at it? I was right, look!”

“I do not want to.”

"Don't be a halla poo, Cullen. Just look-"

"No."

“Oh Nora, stop torturing the poor lad," Dorian said. "Well, now that the show is over, what is so important that you and Mr. Steely Templar here could not have waited to tell us? Because we would very much like to be left alone now, thank you very much."

“Well, I was about to walk away when I heard the noises, but Cullen-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cullen swiftly took hold of Nora’s arm, his eyes still fixed on the floor with a most avid determination. “Nothing important, we’ll just- leave...now.”

“Lock the door on your way out, would ya?” Bull added. Dorian made a sound, Cullen turned red in the face, and Nora giggled.

Cullen pulled her out, shutting the door behind them before Nora could say anything else. Suffice to say that Dorian was incapable of providing any help at the current time. From the traumatized looks of him, Cullen had yet to recover from their newly found discovery as they went down to the upper courtyard- Cullen more so striding, and Nora panting to keep up with his pace.

Everything about Skyhold’s courtyard was in its usual preoccupied state; people going in and out of the tavern, officers filing in their requisitions, cheerful Scout Harding who smiled politely as they walked by, and a group of trainees sparring in the middle. All was as it should be, except for some three uncertain Dalish elves sticking out like sore thumbs. It was plain as day that they did not belong with the blend of courtyard activities. One of them, a young lad Nora recognized as one of the Lavellan clan hunters, was eyeing the sparring ring like a hawk as though he was afraid the soldiers might turn to pounce on him at any given moment. The other two stood beside him by the walls below the main stairway, each as doubtful as the next.

The elderly of the two happened to be the Lavellan clan hearthmistress, Sylvanne, a stout woman with wild salt and pepper hair whom Nora loved listening to elven stories from when she was a little girl. On her face, she wore a complex Vallaslin bearing the mark of Sylaise, the goddess of domestic arts. Her eyes were darting about the place in a very capricious manner as though she was laying judgement on everything around her. Nora would not be surprised if even the grass made her feel uneasy; Sylvanne was as stereotypical as Dalish would come. Though she was a kind soul who would never wish ill upon anyone, she was the type who believed the Dalish to be of the purest blood, and their traditions to be the only way of life. This belief made her ignorant of any other foreign customs outside her own, and in typical Dalish fashion, she was not afraid to speak her mind of it. The only difference was that she would always do so in an animated manner as opposed to glowering looks of disapproval.

When her gaze landed on Nora, it was almost as if she was relieved to have finally found some familiarity in a foreign place. She yelled from across the lawn, “Nora? Is that you, _da’len_ ? _Mythal’enaste_ , it really is! My, how you’ve grown! Come closer so I can have a better look at you. I’m afraid my eyes are not as good as they once were.”

“ _Aneth ara_ , Hearthmistress Sylvanne,” Nora went to give her a big hug- she still smelled of the same pine and burnt cedarwood. “I’m so happy you’re here. The attack in Wycome-”

“A tragedy, _da’len_. One we must use all our strength to move on from. There is no point in harbouring regret or grief. We must honour their lives by staying strong,” she said sadly. “The Keeper will tell you all that is needed to know.”

Unlike Sylvanne, who was loud and full of life, the other two said their hellos quietly. None of them addressed her by her title ‘Inquisitor’, but Nora had already expected that. The hunter, Jurven Lavellan, then turned his wary gaze back at the sparring ring and Nora had to assure him that no one was going to attack him. Jurven did not seem to trust her words, nodded, and continued staring silently at the training recruits. The last of the three was a young female elf about Nora’s age by the name of Gethriel. Nora had never spoken much to her while growing up; not ever since that one time when they were kids and she had pulled her hair because of something Nora could not remember anymore.

“Pray what _are_ you wearing, child?” Slyvanne gave her a distressed look as she inspected Nora’s formal attire from top to toe. “Are the _shem_ making you wear that thing so you will look like one of them? _Shem_ -” she proceeded to scoff loudly, “They think they know what’s right. Silly creatures, they are.”

Nora laughed it off politely. “Actually, it is very comfortable. I rather like it.”

“Nonsense!” Sylvanne said. “A nice ironbark armour would be much more appropriate.”

While all of this was going on, Cullen stood silently behind Nora unsure of what to say, especially just now since Sylvanne’s apparent ignorance of his presence. It was a normal thing though- for Dalish not to address another race until they were finished with greeting their own- but Nora suspected Cullen did not know that.

Ever the optimist, she decided that this would be a good chance for Cullen to get to know her real family. The Inquisition has been like one to her, and still is, but clan Lavellan was her roots, even if she never did feel like she belonged with them. Members of her clan like Sylvanne had been with her since her birth, and was as much a part of her life as the Inquisition had become.

Nora beckoned him over encouragingly. “Hearthmistress,” she turned to Sylvanne, placing her hand on Cullen’s arm, “This is Cullen. He’s the commander of the Inquisition’s forces, and a close… friend.”

Gethriel muttered something under her breath that was hard to hear, but if she were to take a wild guess, it was not a good thing. Jurven was still ignoring the entire conversation altogether.

“Yes, I know who you are,” Sylvanne landed a cryptic gaze upon him. “Deshanna has told us all about your _friendship_ with our First.”

Cullen greeted her with a polite nod, and if Sylvanne had expected him to falter, he did not. “In that case, I should give her my thanks.”

“Don’t get cheeky with me, boy. I have seen far more in this life than you ever have,” she said, sounding like a mother telling off her child. Sylvanne brushed away a cluster of wild grey curls that had fallen over her face. Her wrinkly eyes scanned Cullen up and down just like she did with Nora. “Let it be clear that I cannot be on your side, boy. But it’s simple really, why our Nora likes you-” her eyes twinkled knowingly,”- she always couldn’t resist a pretty face.”

“Hearthmistress!”

“ _Elvhen_ boys- too safe, she did say to me. But you- big, good-lookin’- got that shiny sword in your hand. Always preferred the bad boys, she has. Not like we had any in the clan except maybe Alras. Oh, the ladies loved him. Cracked my head thinking why Nora said no to him. Now I see why, she prefers the _shem_ . Can’t say I agree with her choices, you _shem_ lot are always trouble.”

“I did not say no to him because I like _shem_ ,” Nora protested. “I said no because he’s a prideful prick who thinks he can get away with anything he wants.”

“Sounds a whole lot like you to me, _da’len_.”

“I am not!” Nora said, horrified that someone would place her on the same pedestal as Alras. Never would she want to be likened to their warleader. Not after he had called her a dog the last time they had met in Orlais; the very thought made her blood boil.

She had expected Cullen to say something in her defense, for Alras had also hurled some very nasty things at him back in Orlais. “ _Ar tu na’lin emma mi!_ ”, he had spat at Cullen- a very offensive elven cuss, meaning ‘I will see your blood on my blade’- but it was only when he lashed out at Nora did Cullen put a stop to his hostility and dragged him out of the tavern to throw him into the bushes.

It was safe to say that Cullen shared a similar dislike for the Lavellan clan warleader as Nora did, but when she peered up at her commander, she saw that he looked rather amused with Sylvanne; almost entertained. And when Sylvanne finally realized she was keeping them from greeting Deshanna and let them go, Cullen- who had been mostly silent thus far- tilted his head at Nora as they walked up the stairway to the throne room, and with a slight smile said, “I kind of like her.”

“Sylvanne? Really?” Nora sounded surprised. Almost everything that came out of her hearthmistress’ mouth would be considered offensive to humans, nevermind it was unintentional. “Is it because she said you were good-looking?”

He chuckled lightly. “No, not that. I don’t know, maybe it is because she reminds me of my sister, Mia.”

“You miss her.”

“Very much. I haven’t seen her or my family in-” he paused, “- I was thirteen when I left to join the Templar Order. I’ve not been back since then.” Then, Cullen did something unusual. He held her hand. Her heart skipped a beat. “You should meet her one day,” he said.

There were people around; they were bound to see; this was Skyhold, not Orlais. It was not just Varric and the Inner Circle. For a second, she thought maybe he had forgot where they were, or that all the stress from work had made his brain fuzzy; but then she saw the way he was looking at her- the way she wished he looked at her everyday. He knew exactly what he was doing.

The warmth of her hand in his at that very moment felt like nothing else. Of course, the thought had always been playing around in her mind- a small cottage in the hills, Nora putting on the kettle, blue skies, green meadows; and dare she even- Cullen, handsome and grinning with a baby girl on his lap. It was then, for the very first time, that she found herself beyond just hoping and dreaming of a life after the Inquisition. She was looking forward to it. Nevermind where it was or how she lived; as long as he was there with her, everything would be alright.

But, the feeling was too fleeting, for another source of warmth- more sinister- was simmering in the palm of her other hand. She clutched her fingers tight and tried not to think of the green mark, and the possibility of her death by it. To even have a chance of that life, she would first have to ultimately defeat an ancient darkspawn God and his pet archdemon.

They entered the throne room. Not a thing was out of place except for the pale-faced petite elven woman standing at the foot of an Orlesian throne (gifted to the Inquisition by Empress Celene after they had saved her life) looking the same as she always did; silver hair swept back in a severe bun and as cool as the evening breeze. It was hard to imagine Deshanna had been through a war with the way she looked just then; so put together, like one of the golden lions at the Winter Palace.

“ _Da’len_ ,” her wise eyes crinkled upwards when she saw Nora, but then her smile disappeared as they came closer and Nora realized she was still holding Cullen’s hand. Without thinking, she let go. Deshanna seemed to approve the gesture and continued to speak, “I thought I would never see you again, but fate has been kind. We managed to lose the soldiers at the borders of Wycome.”

“Keeper,” Nora hugged her wiry frame, finding that she felt much thinner than she already was. When they broke apart, Nora saw fresh wrinkles that had not been there before now lined her face, making her look more weathered out. The harsh journey through the Frostbacks seemed to have taken a great deal out of her, but knowing Deshanna, her pride would never admit it. “I’ve only just received your letter this morning. Cullen told me immediately. I thought I had lost you.”

“I’m still very much alive, _da’len_. You needn’t have worried.” Deshanna’s eyes darted to fix Cullen with an icy glare and he stared back unwavering.

“Keeper.”

“Commander.”

“You are well, I hope.”

“As I should be.”

They were glaring so hard at each other, Nora was almost afraid their eyes were going to pop out of their heads. She tried to think of something else to say in order to soothe the tension and looked around the throne room expecting to find more elves lingering around, but there were none. Realization dawned on her and a brick formed in her stomach. “Is this all of you?”

Five. That was all that were left of the Lavellan clan. When Deshanna wrote the letter to Nora, she had not expected the soldiers to attack that very night. The ambush had came all of a sudden and most of were killed in their sleep- even the young. The rest had died trying to protect Deshanna and what little that were left had fallen while fleeing out of Wycome. There was a slight tremble in Deshanna’s voice as she spoke and Nora could see the pain in her eyes, as if the massacre was playing out again in front of her. If her Keeper was still the same person, Nora knew she blamed herself for all those deaths; that she could not protect her clan from the slaughter.

“Five?” Nora counted in her head. Three from the courtyard, Deshanna and, “Vevra?” she  asked hopefully, praying in her heart for her childhood friend.

A tear slid down Nora’s cheek when Deshanna placed a comforting hand on her shoulder before baring the bad news, “I am sorry, _da’len_. Her aravel was the first they attacked.”

The brick in Nora’s stomach multiplied to a dozen, piling all the way up to her throat; it was difficult to breathe. Her legs had all of a sudden decided to give way and she found herself stumbling backwards. Cullen’s arms shot out just in time to catch her. Though she was still looking at Deshanna, Nora did not see her Keeper’s worried face. Wisps of memories had started to flash before her eyes; of Vevra and her. They were weaving garlands made of Arbour Blessings; stargazing together into the thick of the night; Nora crying to her when Deshanna had been mad, and then there was Vevra telling Nora to forget about the templar from Kirkwall.

“I am taking her to her quarters,” Cullen said.

“And _you_ are to decide what she should or should not do?” Deshanna snapped at him.

“There are people around,” Cullen tried to explain as calmly as possible while holding Nora’s weight up. “They should not see their Inquisitor like this. We have to protect her image.”

But Deshanna was having none of it. “To be strong is to not be afraid of your weaknesses,” her tone was resentful, but she had a point. She narrowed her eyes at him- “and this image you speak of, commander, perhaps it is only the image _shem_ like you want her to portray.”

“Will you look at her? She is in no right state of mind to be here right now, not in front of so many people. They will ask questions.”

“The Dalish have nothing to hide. It was the _shem_ soldiers who destroyed us. We have done nothing wrong.”

“Her friend just died!”

“Killed by _shem_. Everyone should know this.”

“You are insane.”

“And you have no permission to be associated with my First,” Deshanna retorted coldly, and Cullen could no longer hide his scowl.

“Enough, the both of you!” Nora finally came to her senses. The images of Vevra has stopped and she was once again back in the throne room, in the middle of a heated argument between her Keeper and Cullen. She was still leaning on Cullen, so she picked herself up and stared angrily at the both of them. Why had she ever thought they would be able to get along? She sighed at Deshanna, “Cullen is right, Keeper. This is not the clan, this is Skyhold, and you will just have to accept that this is the way we do things here. And- and we do not need your permission to be together,” she added, shakily. “You will just have to accept this too.”

Deshanna fell silent, and it was only after a few tense moments when she nodded her head curtly. “If that is how you feel, _da’len_.”

“You said there’s five of you. I’ve only met four so far. Who is…” Nora’s voice trailed off as soon as she realized she already knew the answer to her own question.

Atop the raised platform, someone emerged from behind the Orlesian throne- the last of the Lavellan clan. What he was doing behind it in the first place was beyond anybody’s guess, but his smug face was enough to guiltily snap Nora out of her grief. Cullen’s grip on her shoulders tightened.

His chin was held high, his arms were crossed. Alras peered down at them, “Nora, _andaran atish’an_.”

Why was she not surprised?


	20. Old Wounds

“ So soon?”

“There is no time to waste, Inquisitor.”

“But we’ve only just returned from Orlais…”

Cassandra sighed in frustration. Today’s war council meeting had dragged on longer than she had anticipated. Her patience was running low and she wanted more than anything to get back to finishing the latest chapter of ‘Swords & Shields’. There was going to be a grand feast tonight in which she was required to attend, on insistence of Josephine. If she did not find out what was going to happen to the protagonist in her novel before that, she might just flip a bench.

She was not the only one on edge that morning. Inquisitor Lavellan had also been a great deal more fidgety, probably due to the fact that the survivors from her clan were now harbouring themselves in Skyhold. But none’s scowl was more evident than the one belonging to the Inquisition’s Commander Cullen, who was impatiently rapping his fingers on the war table. He had stormed into the council meeting an hour late, sweaty and grim, and launched into a full on argument with the Inquisitor about her clan trying to steal weapons from the armoury.

The shouting match had lasted for most of the morning, which was why they were far behind on actual work. Lavellan and Cullen were not addressing each other anymore, and had settled on silently fuming in their spots beside one another. Josephine was absent from the meeting to prepare for the feast in the evening, which left Leliana to be the only calm one among them.

Cassandra tried to ignore the irritable twitch in her temple. “Inquisitor, the red templars are not going to wait around for your convenience. Once Leliana receives the survey reports from our scouts, you will have to go to Emprise Du Lion.”

“Fine,” Lavellan reluctantly said before moving on to the next subject. “Any news on Corypheus?”

Leliana frowned, “No. After Adamant, he has been quiet. We do not know where he is or what he is planning. It is unsettling.”

Yes, indeed, thought Cassandra. The battle at Adamant Fortress, though victorious, was not won without loss.  Corypheus had suffered a huge blow in his plans to lure the Grey Wardens to the darkness with blood magic, but the Inquisition had also lost many lives to the siege. It was a horrifying sight Cassandra would never forget; it came first with deafening screech from above the blackened sky. Corypheus’ archdemon- dark; with scales like grotesque, infected veins coiling around every inch of its body- had swooped down, carrying with it a mouth full of flames, burning everything in its path. Soldiers, Grey Wardens, even demons were reduced to ashes as the enormous beast circled the fortress in search of one person… the Inquisitor.

They had thought her dead at first. Everyone saw it. The hideous beast had crashed into the main courtyard and according to the reports, snapped up Warden-Commander Clarel only to throw her dead, lifeless body out of the way. At the time, Cassandra had been on the battlements fighting off the surge of demons alongside Cullen. The thunderous crunch of rocks breaking apart had caused their heads to turn. They rushed to aid their Inquisitor, but it was too late; the archdemon had smashed half the courtyard to rubble.  

Then there came a burst of blinding green light. When it finally disappeared, the Inquisitor and her party were nowhere to be found. The archdemon had took flight once again to the horror of many, but instead of wreaking more destruction, it vanished into the black sky once again. After that, It was as if the Inquisition had suddenly lost the will to fight. The archdemon might have gone, but demons were still at large. One by one, the disheartened soldiers fell more quickly as more demons swarmed upon them. The death of the Inquisitor had taken a toll on the forces.

With the belief that their Inquisitor had fallen, Cullen had a very hard time trying to fend off the demons while bellowing words of courage for his troops to not give up. Cassandra had led a group of Grey Wardens to fight their way to the derelict courtyard, but it was difficult. With their numbers running low, killing the demons had taken a much longer time. Just when she had begun to think all hope was lost, the green light appeared again, this time in the form of a massive swirling hole, gaping in mid-air; and from it, out fell Hawke, Dorian, Blackwall, Varric, and the Inquisitor.

Cassandra knew Lavellan had lived because of the mark on her hand. She had summoned it to suck her and her party into the Fade to avoid falling to their doom when the archdemon had destroyed the courtyard. But, until this day, some part of her still believed it to be none other than a miracle. It had to be the Maker’s doing.

“And your mark,” Cassandra said to Lavellan. “How does it feel?”

The Inquisitor instinctively flexed her palm. “Docile for now. Has Solas found a way to get rid of this thing yet?”

“I’m afraid not,” Leliana said. “He thinks the anchor might be permanent.”

“That’s a cheery thought.” Lavellan’s tone was dismal and she stared at her open palm, balled it into a fist, and dropped it back down. “Well, can’t do much about it now, I’m guessing. Where were we?”

Cassandra had to hand it to the Inquisitor. Though she may be trying at times- and sometimes completely ridiculous-, Lavellan was brave like no one else; and not only in the heat of battle. How she managed to carry on day by day with the knowledge that she could potentially drop dead from the mark on her hand astounded even Cassandra. Their Inquisitor was not known in the Inner Circle to be of the responsible sort- for starters, she had once set the medic tents on fire- but when it came to the anchor on her hand, she always succeeded in making as if it was nothing but a case of the hiccups that refused to go away.

“I will escort the Inquisitor to Emprise Du Lion when it is time,” Cullen announced, sounding like he had already made up his mind and there would be nothing anyone could say to dispute his decision. Though, he was still not looking at Lavellan. He had not just yet gotten over her clan’s bad behaviour.

“No,” Cassandra shook her head firmly. “We are expecting a new batch of templars to arrive around that time. It is to be a large group, apparently. You will have to remain in Skyhold to debrief them and delegate the task force.”

“Rylen can take over for me.”

“Rylen is not the commander,” Cassandra snapped impatiently.

Cullen had done it before. Once, back in Orlais at the Winter Palace. He had insisted on leaving his charges in the hands of Leliana and Josephine while he would follow the Inquisitor and her party to protect her. Of course, Lavellan had refused and ordered him to remain with his men to defend the court. Cassandra could not claim to know the commander as well as Lavellan, but she knew Cullen well enough to know that he was the sort of man who would always place duty and necessity above his own emotions. That was why she had recruited Cullen into the Inquisition in the first place.

When Divine Justinia had tasked Cassandra with finding a commander for the Inquisition, she had heard of a templar in Kirkwall; newly promoted to the ranks of a Knight-Commander. The Templar Order in Kirkwall had been in a state of disarray after the previous Knight-Commander, Meredith, had gone mad and was eventually defeated by The Champion. Meredith’s successor had been Cullen, and when Cassandra found him, he was rallying what remained of the city’s templars to restore order after the Kirkwall rebellion, but in vain. The Templar Order was too far gone for one man to fix, and for Cullen, it was like trying to mend broken glass. Though the Inquisition at the time was still in its infancy- no resources, no backing, no army-, it had not taken much for Cassandra to convince him to leave and join the Inquisition as commander.

Perhaps it was because he had realized his new title then was nothing but a farce- he was Knight-Commander to a broken Order. There was nothing left for him; and so, Cullen had gathered Rylen and the few loyal men he had left to pledge their swords to the Inquisition’s cause. So far, Cullen had proved he was more than worthy of his position as commander of the Inquisition’s forces. Like Cassandra, nonsense was not tolerated by Cullen. The soldiers under his charge both feared and respected him, and the Inquisition’s forces had grown from a bunch of inexperienced volunteers to a strong, stable army loyal to their cause.

“Rylen is perfectly capable of handling the templars while I am away,” insisted Cullen, whose patience was already matching the likes of Cassandra’s own. Once, Dorian had remarked on how alike they were, only Cullen was the male version, and much prettier- in Dorian’s eyes, at least. This only annoyed Cassandra even more, because he was just as stubborn too.

“It is non negotiable,” Cassandra’s tone was biting, and she turned sharply at Lavellan. “Inquisitor, will you tell him I am right?!”

“Honestly Cullen, I’m not a child. I am perfectly capable of looking after myself,” Lavellan said moodily.

“You fell into a nug hole,” he finally addressed her, though in a testy sort of way.

“Oh, would you shut it with the nug hole thing? That was _one_ time!” Lavellan proceeded to pick up a tiny wooden figurine carved in the shape of her likeness and moved it across the war table’s intricate map of Thedas, finally stopping it at a region of Orlais marked ‘Emprise Du Lion’. She then lifted Cullen’s own figurine only to firmly place it back down its initial spot that was ‘Skyhold’. “There,” she announced. “The Inquisitor has decided. Now can we get move on to the millions of other pending matters?”

Cullen looked like he wanted to punch the war table. “We don’t even know if it is a trap! For all we know, the red templars have already planned an ambush the moment you step into Emprise Du Lion. I will not have you simply walk into any more danger than you are already going to face!”

“If it really is a trap, then the only difference of you coming along will be that one more person dies,” Lavellan pointed out. “Anyway, I am the one they call Inquisitor. Or have you forgotten that danger comes together with the title?”

“Of course I know that!” His voice boomed.

The council fell into a deadly silence. The meeting had taken an uncomfortable turn. Cassandra stared speechlessly at the both of them. Her eyes found Leliana’s, and she too was standing frozen in her place, hands tucked under her arms, baffled.

Even a blind man could tell that the Inquisition’s commander was in love with his Inquisitor. Cassandra had been the first to notice, even before Cullen had realized it himself. Only Lavellan could ever wind him up to that extent, and Cassandra could not pinpoint a single instance when Cullen had disregarded his duty for a cause of his own. Under other circumstances, she would have stood on Cullen’s side, for Cassandra knew how precious a thing like love could be. But, now was not the time for one’s mind to wander. The Inquisition was her main priority; it was what she now lived for. She turned her thoughts back to the war council, which was then shrouded in an air of awkward tension.

Finally, it was Lavellan who broke the silence. “Cullen-” her voice was low, gentle.

“Excuse me.” He turned sharply away, and with no more being said, he strode out of the war room.

When the heavy wooden doors slammed shut behind him, Lavellan let out an exasperated sigh. “Well, that was fun.”

“Your humour precedes you, Inquisitor,” Cassandra said flatly. There was still much to be done, but it was already apparent that the meeting was adjourned.

“Might I persuade anyone for a drink?” Lavellan suggested. “No? Fine… if anyone needs me, you know where I’ll be.”

Sometimes, Cassandra was so convinced that the Maker had thought it funny to send someone like Lavellan to save Thedas. So far, their Inquisitor has only ever had but one favourite pastime, and it resided The Herald’s Rest.

When Cassandra emerged onto the courtyard, Cullen was already preoccupying himself with training the new recruits. She stopped to watch him from a near distance. He seemed to be taking out his rage on the poor men, wielding his sword with the finesse of a seasoned warrior. Three of them were advancing on him in the sparring ring, and not a moment later, he had deflected each of their blades with little to no effort, knocking them back one by one.

“Charge like that and you will leave your back exposed,” he was barking at a young soldier who had fallen face flat into the mud. He dragged the soldier up and forced a practise sword back into his hands. “Your weak spots- here,” he tapped the boy hard on the shoulder with his wooden blade, “and here-” he poked his collar bone. “Fail, and you will see your head separated from your neck. Now, again!”

Cassandra continued on to her usual spot within the training grounds and settled herself on a stone bench not far from Cullen and the sparring ring. Her novel ‘Swords & Shields’, written by none other than Varric Tethras himself, sat untouched underneath the bench where she had left it- everyone knew well enough not to touch her belongings- and she picked it up, flipped the pages to where she had left off and started to devour the latest chapter. But, just as she was getting lost in the heat of a battle scene between the hero and his enemies, the Inquisitor’s ear-splitting screech rang across the courtyard.

“You!” Lavellan was marching towards the sparring ring in a determined fury. “You knew all along, didn’t you?!”

Cassandra gritted her teeth, and stared hard at the letters on the page as if hoping she would dissolve into the story’s ink. But, a series of angry yelling- mostly from Lavellan’s end-  followed suit, echoing through the courtyard, and Cassandra did not need to look up to know that another fight had begun. Reading her novel proved difficult after that, and try as she may to ignore the couple’s bickering, blocking out Lavellan’s increasingly shrill voice was like pretending not to hear the constant yelping of an untrained pup.

“You could have told me at any time!” Lavellan’s high-pitched tone was accusing.

“There was no right time.” Cullen did not shout back, but he was clearly frustrated.

It was pointless trying to read her novel, not with all that racket. The twitch in her temple returned. Cassandra snapped her book shut and peered up to observe the very public row. The recruits had already ceased their training, dropping their practise swords, and were gawking at their commander and Inquisitor. Slowly, more and more people in the courtyard were turning their heads; some had started to break into whispers.

“Liar!” Lavellan screamed at him.

“Eleanor, this is getting out of hand.” Cullen tried to grab her arm, but she pushed him away.

Lavellan shoved him again, and Cassandra swore she heard one of the spectators gasp. Nobody dared go against the commander, let alone work up the courage to speak to him; and there was the Inquisitor, shoving him about. What was probably the most shocking to others was that he was letting her do it. The recruits already had their jaws hanging to the ground. No one pushed the commander around.

From the corners of her eyes, Cassandra spotted the Lavellan clan Keeper keeping to the shadows of the courtyard walls. Beside her was a plump, elderly elven woman with messy grey hair, and a male elf whom Cassandra presumed was the clan’s warleader. Lavellan had briefly mentioned him to the members of the inner circle, though she mentioned him in contempt, calling him a “pompous twat” and also some other names that would be quite inappropriate to repeat. Their elderly woman was shaking her head in resignation, while Keeper Istimaethoriel and the warleader merely watched on. In fact, they even looked quite pleased.

Leliana appeared by her side all of a sudden, almost causing Cassandra to jump from her seat. The spymaster’s stealth-like qualities precedes her.

“Well, aren’t you going to do something?” she said.

“Me?” Cassandra peered up at her incredulously. “Why should I be the one to stop their nonsense?”

“Because you are the only one with a voice loud enough to shut them up,” she replied as-a-matter-of-factly, like it was common knowledge. “If you don’t do it soon, more tongues will be set a wagging.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes at Leliana. “The reason had better make sense.”

If anyone knew what it was about, it was Leliana. The spymaster’s mind was like a self-operating vault of secret scrolls, replenishing itself with new intelligence on a daily basis; some secrets were political, some were dangerous, some for good knowledge, and then there were the scandalous bits. Rare were the instances when Leliana would be left in the dark about something or another, for her gift of memory- and a widespread arsenal of spies- allowed her to make full use of her talent; all she had to do was access the situation, reach into that valuable vault in her head, pluck out a scroll, and everything she needed to know would spell out clear as day.

“Remember when Lavellan fell from the breach at the Conclave? We were all so unsure of her, so I did a little background check while we were still in Haven. Our Inquisitor is not the pure-blooded Dalish everyone seems to think,” Leliana paused for effect. “Her father is human, one of the city guards from Kirkwall. He killed her mother.”

“You knew this all along?”

“Naturally.”

“And you did not once think of revealing this to her?”

Leliana arched a brow. “What good would it have done for the Inquisition?”

Cassandra heaved a heavy sigh and forced herself off the stone bench. “Don’t wait up for me,” she said to Leliana before forcing herself to march over to Cullen and Lavellan.

She had a point. Still, it was cold of Leliana to have withheld such vital knowledge from Lavellan. If Cassandra did not stop them, soon enough, the whole of Skyhold would be set alight with a wildfire of scandalous gossip. Not that there was not already going to be talk of this, but better to put an end to the ridiculous lover’s squabble before everyone were to realize what they were really fighting about. Rumours were better than than having the truth spread around Skyhold.

“What is the meaning of this?!” She demanded upon reaching them.

Both Lavellan and Cullen turned to face her at the same time. Lavellan was red in the face and teary-eyed, while Cullen was staring daggers with a scowl on his lips.

“A misunderstanding, nothing more,” Cullen said indignantly, in a manner that sounded more like he was warning her to back off. He turned sharply to the gawking recruits with a deathly glare. “What are the lot of you staring at? I do not recall ordering you to put down your swords!”

The young recruits did not need a second warning to heed his command. They scurried to retrieve their sparring weapons and continued with their training, pretending to ignore the entire ordeal. Meanwhile, Lavellan continued to yell hysterically at Cullen as if Cassandra had not been present at all. The storm cloud above her head was turning the red in her face into the likes of an enraged beetroot. She was on the brink of bursting into tears; her lips were trembling, hands flying about in all sorts of direction.

“You always think you know what’s best. If you are going to continue telling me nothing, then why bother with me at all!”

“Maker, Eleanor. Do you really need me to spell it out for you?” His fists were clenched tight and tense; trying his absolute best to keep from exploding. “Do you really need me to stroke your hair and tell you how much I care about you? Quit acting like a child, and stop making a spectacle of yourself.”

“They are _my_ parents!”

“Which was exactly why it was hard for me to-”

“Stop making it seem like this is difficult for you, Cullen! It is MY life. I have a right to know!”

“I never said that!”

“Enough! The both of of you!” Cassandra bellowed, her voice thunderous, and both Lavellan and Cullen fell silent. They turned to glare at her once more like she had only just interferred. The pounding in her temple had worsened at the thought that she was supposed to be having a nice, relaxing hour to herself. Instead, there she was playing peacekeeper to a livid Inquisitor and a mercurial commander. This was most definitely not part of what she had signed up to do for the Inquisition. Hands firmly on her hips, she lashed out at them sternly, “This behaviour is absolutely unacceptable of your ranks!” And then she lowered her voice to a hiss, “People are watching, and thanks to both of your foolishness, they are going to talk. I hope you are happy.”

Lavellan opened her mouth, presumably to argue, but closed it again upon catching sight of the expression on Cassandra’s face. Then, she turned on her heel and stormed off, too livid to care about the small crowd that were gathered and openly gawking at them.

Cullen stalked off too, in the other direction, but Cassandra was not going to let him off the hook that easily. Quickly, she caught up with him and was about to open her mouth to demand an explanation when he threw her a face and brusquely cut her off.

“I don’t need it from you too,” his tone was piercing. He was not in a good mood.

She decided that raising her voice would only turn his mood even more foul. So, she fell in step next to him and they silently descended steep stone steps into the lower courtyard. They kept quiet until they reached the portcullis where Cullen ordered the watch guard to raise the iron gates. The heavy metal grating groaned as it slowly slid up to allow them exit onto the drawbridge. Cassandra did not need to ask where he was headed; Cullen was a man of routine, and during this time, such was that his schedule dictated he would check on the cannons.

As they made their way across the drawbridge onto the neck, Cullen’s pace slowed down to a stroll, making short stops each time he reached a cannon to inspect its condition. He looked more at ease now that the gatehouse was shrinking further behind them. Cassandra completely understood the gradual disappearance of his scowl; too many a time had she used work as a means of distraction. Just like Cullen, diving straight into work gave her a reason to avoid facing her fears and doubts.

Looking out to the Frostbacks, Cassandra realised she had not once taken the time to appreciate the intense landscape surrounding Skyhold- a vast terrain of jagged, white mountains that were as treacherous as they were beautiful. Josephine had once mentioned that the balcony of Lavellan’s quarters offered a fantastic view, enough to take anyone’s mind off their troubles, but Cassandra had not bothered to visit. All the times he had exited Skyhold, she was on the back of a horse, galloping off on yet another mission, and whenever she was back, any free time was always spent with her nose buried in the pages of a novel. She turned to check on Cullen and saw that he, too, was staring at the frozen kingdom.

“You cannot protect her from everything.”

“I know.”

“Do you take her out here?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Not yet. I prefer it alone out here,” he paused. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

“Helps me clear my head.”

“It’s peaceful here.”

A moment of silence.

Cullen sighed helplessly. “I went too far.”

“Try not to shout back the next time.”

“What should I do now?”

Nobody had ever asked her for advice of that sort of nature before; probably because they assumed she would only tell them to sod off. She supposed she never did project any kind of sympathetic qualities. Obviously, Cullen did not have many female friends, or any friends at all for that matter. Besides Rylen, she supposed she was the next closest thing to a friend for Cullen. To be frank, he was never a particularly approachable person to begin with, but neither was Cassandra.

“We always forgive the ones we care about,” she offered.

“She always does,” he sounded distant, like it was a troubling thought. He heaved yet another heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair. “Eleanor… she is still young at heart; fresh in war. I do not think she was ever fashioned for bloodshed. Yet, she is the Inquisitor, and one day, I fear the weight of that title will break her.”

“You speak as if her life is your responsibility. That if she does not live past her two decades, it is solely your fault.”

“Yes.”

“And if you die in her stead? Who is to blame?”

“I fear that will be the one thing she will never forgive me for doing,” he said as they approached the last of the canons parked near to the barbican. “How did you cope with it? His passing-”

He meant Regalyan. When the young elven girl who was their Inquisitor fell from the sky, she had came at a great cost for the Maker to grant Thedas its saviour; their Herald. The Temple of Sacred Ashes had been wrecked with the blackened corpses of lives forever lost, indistinguishable and charred beyond recognition for any family member, friend or loved one to claim home for burials. Cassandra had walked among the scorched remains, and it had been agony. At first, she had refused to believe that he was amongst the scalded bodies; that maybe, somehow, Galyan had managed to escape just in time, and run into hiding. But, deep down even she knew that was not so. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, but he never did appear. By then, Cassandra was pouring every ounce of her energy into the Inquisition to keep herself preoccupied. The more work, the better. Then, one day in the thick of the night while alone in her tent, she realised Galyan was never coming back.

In the Inquisition, apart from Leliana who never spoke about it to Cassandra, only Cullen knew Regalyan. This was when Cullen had only just joined the Inquisition. He had not known Galyan well enough to call him brother, but they were acquainted with each other well enough to sit for a game of chess once, right before Galyan was to attend the Conclave at The Temple of Sacred Ashes. Who could have predicted an explosion and for everything to take a cruel, brutal turn?

“It gets easier,” Cassandra answered. In truth, she had gotten used to turning a blind eye to her grief. Tears were never her thing, and so instead of crying her eyes out each night, she had convinced herself to believe that Galyan’s death at the Conclave was an inevitable sacrifice, and this only further fuelled her desire to put an end to Corypheus. “But, death comes to us all. It is just a matter of when and how. The lucky ones die old and warm in their beds. These days, most are not so fortunate.”

“Then I must ask something of you,” Cullen said. “A promise from one soldier to another. That when I am no longer here, you will do all you can to see that my Nora lives a full life. One beyond the Inquisition. So that when it is her time, she will leave this blighted world as one of the lucky ones, old and warm in her bed with someone she loves holding her hand.”

Something Galyan had once said rang true in that very moment; and she swore she heard the echo of his familiar light-hearted voice, telling her, “Ya know Cassandra, even the strongest of men will fall at the feet of a woman. All she has to do is make him believe he will never love another again, as you have done to me.”

“See to it yourself,” she told Cullen. “For it will be you who holds her when she is old.”

He cracked a dark smile, and pulled his moleskin glove off one hand to run his bare fingers along the cannon’s barrel for cracks. “When the day comes...” he seemed to be speaking to himself rather than to her, “I wish it were so.”

 

* * *

 

Nora must admit that for the short time span given, Josephine had done a marvellous job in turning the throne room into something out of a Dalish fairytale. She distinctly remembered the ambassador telling her that the feast would be a simple one.

Rows and rows of floating candles lit the hall with a glow reminiscent of a thousand fireflies. Velvety shades of green and brown draped from the high ceiling to the floor, and Dalish banners hung above beside the Inquisition’s. The long tables were lined with emerald green cloth, and on top, kitchen staff were busy placing dishes of roasted ram meat among the bountiful selection of seasonal fruits and veg, wild berry soup, and cinnamon rolls.

But, Nora was not hungry. If Dorian had not put his foot down and insisted she attend the feast, she would have happily remained in her quarters with only her misery as company. “I’m sorry about what happened to your mother, love,” he had said to her. “I know this is not how you want to remember her, but all you really need to know is that she loved you. Your father was a dick- much like mine... alright, he’s worse- and I simply will not leave you to bawl your eyes out over something that happened ages ago.”

She eventually agreed to leave her quarters when he finally threatened to set her favourite dress on fire.

Nora forced herself to smile at a couple of visiting emissaries, and quickly moved on before they felt compelled to include her in their small talk. There were more people here than she had anticipated. Then, she reminded herself that this was Josephine; of course she would have invited the whole of Skyhold.

Towards the middle of the hall, Josephine sat among noble guests along with Cassandra and Leliana; only, Cassandra was not paying any mind to whatever they were talking about, and was silently shoving spoonfuls of soup into her mouth. Not far from them were some other Inquisition members- Rylen, Harding, and Iron Bull- who had not noticed her walking by at all. At the end of the long table, nearest to the throne, Deshanna sat, prudent in manner, with the four remaining members of the Lavellan clan. On the other side of the hall were Dorian and Varric, seated on the same spots at the table parallel to Deshanna’s.

A sudden breeze of cold wind drifted by her, followed by a gasp from Sera, who ceased her banter with Blackwall, when the chicken leg on her plate had decided to float up from the table until it was suspended in mid-air… Cole. The chicken leg danced its way across the hall, garnering a series of amusing laughs from some of the guests, and a very annoyed look from Solas, until it was eventually seized by a disapproving Vivienne who had floated in.

Everybody seemed to be there, except one steely commander. Not that Nora wished to see Cullen at all; she was still upset with him for not telling her about her parents. They had not spoken, or seen each other since. Nora had stormed off to her quarters to cry over her dead parents, and left Cullen with Cassandra. He had not even bothered to apologise after that. She suspected he was where he always was at this hour; holed up in his tower with his one true love- paperwork.

Nora stood in the middle of the walkway, not entirely sure if she wanted to seat with any of them. Dorian and Varric were already making gestures at her with their hands, but the Keeper was quick to spot her, and was eyeing her in a way that obliged Nora to head over.

As was their custom, the Dalish were studying the spread before them like it was a sin to have so much food on the table. Nora took an empty seat beside Deshanna that she suspected had been deliberately left empty for her. Immediately, she flagged down a kitchen girl and politely requested for a bottle of Antivan Sip-Sip to be brought up from her personal collection housed in the basement. If Nora was going to sit through the entire meal with her clan, she was not going to do it sober.

“What’s _this_ for?” Sylvanne spoke in Elvish, holding up a utensil that resembled a miniature trident with two points instead of three.

“You use it to take the snails out of their shells,” Nora explained.

“I’d rather just suck ‘em out like I always do.”

“Using that will be easier.”

Deshanna leaned forward, “You look pale, _da’len_. Your eyes are red.”

“That’s because I’ve been crying, Keeper,’ Nora retorted, not caring how she must have sounded like at that moment. “You know, over my useless, piece of wyvern shit father, who decided to up and kill my mother, and nobody ever bothered to tell me about it until twenty years later.”

“Keeper was just protecting you, Nora,” said Alras.

He was seated directly across the table from her. Today, his usual air of importance was not wafting about. Instead, he looked rather tame, and that smug smile Nora had deemed as a permanent fixture on his face was replaced by something more docile.

“Exhaustion does not look good on you, _lethallan_. Eat, strengthen yourself,” he put a quarter loaf on her plate, presumably as a peace offering, and Deshanna smiled approvingly at him; the kind of smile Nora wished she would show Cullen.

Nora threw Alras a hateful look, and pushed her plate away. She did not want to take anything from that two-faced son of a -

The tinkling of a spoon tapping against a wine glass rang through the throne room. Josephine was looking cheerful as she stood up to make her speech. “Inquisitor, esteemed guests,” she smiled politely at Nora and her clan, and turned to regard the rest of the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that the Inquisition welcomes clan Lavellan to Skyhold. To clan Lavellan, _andaran atish’an_.”

“ _Andaran atish’an_ ,” the hall echoed simultaneously. The Dalish did not respond.

Josephine raised her wine glass and continued, “A toast! To our honoured guests, for bestowing upon Thedas its Inquisitor. I am sure that the Lavellan clan is proud to have raised such a fine Herald. May you find peace here at Skyhold and of course, clan Lavellan is welcome to stay however long you may wish. Any family of the Inquisitor is also the family of the Inquisition. To clan Lavellan!”

The hall erupted into an applause, and returned to their merriments.

By then, Nora was already wondering where in the Fade did that kitchen girl go with her Antivan Sip Sip; the wine on the table was not strong enough, and she was already on her third glass. The rest of her clan members broke bread the Dalish way- a quarter loaf each, no more, no less- before they started to grab moderate amounts of food onto their plates. The Dalish ate with their hands.

Sylvanne was making a sort of squishy sound with her mouth as she sucked on a snail shell. “Could ‘ave done it better myself, I’m tellin’ ya. Too much garlic, they’re puttin’ in.”

“ _Da’len_ , all that wine is not going to do you any good,” Deshanna pointed out.

“You are right, Keeper. I need something stronger.” She also wished she could tell Sylvanne to knock it off with that incessant sucking. It was giving her a headache.

Her Keeper frowned. “And so is your temper. Earlier today, when I asked you how you were handling things, I did not know that the commander had failed to tell you about your mother and father. Now we know he is not to be trusted.”

“You never trusted him in the first place. So, really, there is no difference. Even if he had told me, you would still hate him.”

“Hate is such a strong word, _da’len_. More appropriately, I resent him. Really, Nora, you should not be so naive. You are just like your mo-” her voice trailed off.

“Like my mother,” Nora finished for her. The rest of the Lavellans had stopped eating and were watching them in silence. Sylvanne had finally dropped her snail onto the table. “Go on, Keeper. Tell me how much I am like my mother. My mother who got herself killed by a _shem_ , and then tell me how I am so much like her that I will wind up getting myself killed by a _shem_ too. Well, I can tell you this, Keeper, that my title or this wretched mark on my palm-” she raised her cursed hand “- will most likely kill me before any _shem_ gets a chance to.”

The kitchen girl reappeared beside her, absent the bottle of Antivan Sip Sip. “Apologies, Inquisitor,” she squeaked, meekly like she had just committed a grave sin. “Commander Cullen has given orders that you are not to be served anything from your inventory during the feast.”

“What?” Nora stared at her incredulously. “He can’t make that kind of order! I am Inquisitor, and it is my stash. You know what, just go in and get the bottle. Tell him I said you could.”

“Would that if I could enter at all, my Herald. But the room is locked, and the commander… he has the key. He said if there is a problem, to take the matter up with him personally.”

First, he does not tell her about her parents, then he calls her a child, and now he’s cutting her off her own drink supply. Nora wanted to fling her glass at the wall, but the kitchen girl looked like she was about to cry and Nora realized she must have thought she had made the Inquisitor mad. It was not her fault, she was just doing her job. Feeling defeated, Nora thanked the girl and let her go.

Alras offered her his glass. “Here, you can have mine.”

“I don’t need anything from you, you slimy, no good halla poo!”

Just then, Gethriel - one of the remaining two Lavellans, the other being Jurven the hunter - stopped sipping at her soup and set the bowl down hard. “You should not speak to our warleader like that,” she said angrily, shocking everyone in the process. “Alras has been fighting for our clan his whole life, while you willingly traipse around with the very kind who mean to destroy our way of life. He does not deserve insults from the likes of a _shem_ lover such as you. You should know where you stand.”

Nora stared at her, speechless. It was not because of what Gethriel had said; Nora was accustomed to her sort, but rather, she was surprised Gethriel had spoken at all for she had not uttered a single word since entering Skyhold until that moment. Come to think of it, Gethriel was never particularly friendly towards Nora. Maybe she had been harbouring disdain for Nora all along, and she just never noticed.

To be frank, Vevra and Nora had never really gotten along with the rest of the Lavellan clan females from the very beginning. When the other girls would huddle in a circle to giggle over the prospect of a bonding partner, Nora would always be found lounging on a moss-covered boulder somewhere with Vevra by her side. They would be chewing on elfroot, and talking about all the great adventures of the outside world. Perhaps they thought they were different, or perhaps the other girls thought them unfriendly. Nevertheless, it was always Vevra and Nora, or had been. Nora missed her friend dearly, and now, she would never be able to see her again.

“If I am not mistaken, Gethriel, it is you who forgets your place,” Alras scolded. “Show some respect for the First. Even if she insists on concerning herself with _shem_ business, she is still one of us.”

“His name is Cullen, and you know nothing except having your behind kicked by him,” Nora snapped at him. Even if Alras were to be the last living being in all of Thedas, she would still despise him. She certainly did not need him to speak for her.

“ _Da’len_ , calm down. Alras is only trying to help,” said Deshanna. “Just look at how worked up you are over this _shem_. I do not wish to see him have so much control over you like this.”

They were never going to stop. But, Nora had had enough. The legs of her chair made a dull scratch against the floor as she pushed herself up unceremoniously.

“I’d rather him than you,” she said to her Keeper, and by the look on Deshanna’s face, she could tell her words had cut where it was meant to. Nora sighed, “I’m tired. Enjoy the feast. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She left her clan, and moved as quickly she could out of the throne room without seeming like she was running away until she reached Solas’ empty rotunda. Relief washed over her as she shut the door, blocking off the noise of the throne room. She leaned her back against the door and took a moment to breathe, feeling her head start to spin a little. Maybe the wine was not so weak after all.

A pot of tea stood on Solas’ neat study, and she walked over to pour some into an empty cup. It tasted horrible, like warm demon piss. Not that she knew what demon piss tasted like, nor would she ever want to. She spat it back into the cup, and hoped Solas would not think it was his when he returned.  

Adorning the curving walls of the rotunda was Solas’ pride and joy; a grand fresco he had painted by himself. The mural was easily five times Nora’s height, and covered half of the rotunda’s circular walls. Nora stood back to marvel at how something so beautiful could be created from mere pigment and plaster. The more she admired Solas’ masterpiece, the more she realized how closely the painted scenes resembled a depiction of her own life as the Inquisitor. There was the breach in the sky; the one she fell from at the Temple of Sacred Ashes; the first open gateway that divided their world and the Fade. Her eyes moved on, as if flipping to the next page of a book. She gazed up at Corypheus’ dark shadow looming tall, overlooking what looked like burning Haven. Then dark red morphed into the next scene; a collage of a blue and silver Grey Warden shield, a castle she recognized as Adamant Fortress, and a circle of evil, demonic eyes.

The fresco stopped where the Inquisitor’s tale was yet to be completed. She assumed Solas meant to cover every inch of the surrounding walls as there were still various sized brushes and colouring pots stacked in a orderly fashion by the foot. If he had meant to paint a complete depiction of her life, she only hoped to live long enough for him to finish painting all of the walls.

Nora was tired. She did not have to dig deep to know why she had ended up Solas’ rotunda instead of her own quarters. Her gaze fell on another door adjacent from her; the one that would lead her to Cullen’s tower. And then, she found herself running.

She did not want to fight anymore. All she wanted was to crawl underneath his sheets, envelope herself in the warmth of him, and fall asleep to the sound of his voice, whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

It was dark outside. The chill of the night engulfed her, crawling underneath her think robes, seeping into her bones. She reached his tower and banged her knuckles against his door.

“Cullen?” She tried to push it and the door creaked open.

As soon as she saw him, she knew something was wrong.

“Maker, you’re white as a ghost!” She rushed to his side.

Beads of sweat trickled his skin, dripping down his face; his jaws, tense. He looked pale, disturbed, like he had spent an eternity in the Fade and only just came out of it. Nora recognized the symptoms. The last time she had seen him like that was the night he pulled his sword on her.

“It’s nothing,” he tried to dismiss her concern, but the tremor in his voice quickly gave him away.

“Let me help.”

“No, I’m fine now.”

“It’s back, isn’t it?”

Piercing hazel eyes peered into hers when she dropped to meet him on the floor - so tormented, so hauntingly beautiful- where he sat with his back against the study. For a man of only twenty-some odd years, Cullen’s eyes bore the weight of an age surpassing the kings of old; a man who had seen the worst of humanity. Yet, her commander remained a man who found no comfort in the sympathy of others. “I can handle it. You should be attending the feast.”

“And listen to my Keeper liken all _shem_ to my disgrace of a father? I think not. I can’t look at Alras’ face without gagging, and Sylvanne’s too busy with the tableware. Jurven might as well have cut out his tongue, and I’m pretty sure Gethriel hates me. I would have stayed a little longer if someone hadn’t thought to lock up my stash.”

“It was for your own good. Is that why you are here?”

“I wanted to see you too.” She mentally hit herself for telling him. As if she were not desperate enough already. She never could stay mad at him for long.

He managed a weakened smile. “Your Keeper would not encourage it.”

“My Keeper can sod off,” she said firmly, and with gentle strokes, she wiped the sweat from his face. “How bad is it this time? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it is my burden to bear, not yours. You have done enough.”

“You think me a soldier who heeds all your commands. Am I not allowed to be worried for you now?”

“No, I think of you as the Inquisitor. Even at times when I don’t want to.” The glimpse of his smile faded into the shadows. “I’m sorry about your parents,” he whispered. “I should have told you sooner…”

“Cullen, don’t change the subject,” she scolded. “Your lyrium withdrawals are relapsing. I’ve already lost too many in my life. I do not wish to see you added to that list. How long have you known?”

Those dark brown eyes she loved so dearly gazed silently into empty space. “Weeks.”

“Weeks!”

“Since The Winter Palace.”

“Cullen, you should have told me…”

“You should be concerned with other more important matter. The Inquisition comes first.”

“No, you come first!” Nora yelled. She had not meant to. He was already having a hard time recovering from his bout of withdrawal, though some colour was already returning to his cheeks.

Cullen reached out to pull her close, and despite herself, Nora let him take her into his arms. His tower was colder than usual. The biting chill of the outside winds blew in on them from his tower’s arrow slit. But, the winds could blow for worse and still, she would stay there on the hard ground with him; and if there should be a blizzard, she would be blind to it save the storm inside her chest while he held her.

“Eleanor, listen to me- are you cold?- you're shivering-” he tugged the fur collar off his shoulders and wrapped it around her before continuing. “Every time you leave Skyhold on a mission, you are risking your life… I think sometimes you forget you only have one of those. It would not do you any good to have half your mind distracted over things such as this while you are on the battlefield. You need to focus. I have seen many seasoned men fall because their minds had stopped to wander elsewhere, especially when faced with a stronger enemy. They start to fear death, and that is when they die.”

“Is that why you always insist on coming with me?”

“Something like that,” he said, but offered no more explanation. “Tell me, if I were to turn into a red templar, would you strike me down?” he asked.

She hesitated, uncertain of his question’s nature. “I would have to.”

“Spoken like a true Inquisitor,” he kissed her, light on the lips. “Always remember this. That no evil is good, and that some evils are necessary. Know your fears, but never make them your weakness. Not like I have.”

“But I know none stronger than you.”

Cullen’s rough, calloused hands cupped her face; his thumb brushing against her cheek with the utmost care. It was always hard to tell what he was thinking, but the way he touched her then, it was as if he held porcelain.

“Maker, but you are beautiful,” he told her with a sadness that punctuated his every breath. “And I will protect you to my very end… but my condition will only worsen from here on out. You cannot be with me when it happens.”

“Don’t,” she warned, refusing to hear anything of the sort. “You don’t get to tell me to leave you. I never will, so there.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you insist on this?- on us?”

Why?- he asked. She did not really know why. He could cut her a thousand times with his sword, and still, she would stand by him. Nora could never explain this willingness, except that it had been embedded in her for so long, forged like a rune to a weapon. Even she could not have predicted that upon the very first time she laid eyes on her templar, the young Dalish girl from years ago was right to know that she would never love another again.

“This addiction will come to pass,” she told him, willing herself to believe it too. She had to. “One day, the lyrium will go away, and you will be free. But for now, rest is what you need- and a cup of tea. Please, no more work…and stop it with the broodiness, or I will force feed you Solas’ brew. Trust me, it is worse than any lyrium addiction.”

“You sound like my sister.”

“Then I like her already.”

“Alright, no more work tonight,” he promised. “Would you come to bed with me then?”

She wanted nothing else. They helped each other up and made their way up the ladder to his humble sleeping quarters. She let her robes fall onto the floor and climbed underneath his sheets. Cullen blew at the candle, and the fire’s warm glow gave way to silver light that cascaded down on them from the moon inside his ceiling’s hole.

“Cullen,” she said as he slipped into bed and wrapped an arm around her, pressing her against his bare chest . “If I were a bloodmage, would you strike me down?”

For a moment, it was so quiet she swore she could hear the beating of their pulse, their steady breaths rising and falling to a single rhythm. Finally, his fingers closed on hers, and in the softest of voice, he said to her…

“I never could.”


	21. Cold Is The Night

They were at its worst at night. 

Sometimes, he would start awake screaming, thrashing about the sheets, almost hitting her by accident. At first, it had not taken her long to snap him out of it, but as the nights grew in numbers, it became harder to calm him down. Other times, Nora would stir from her dreams to find him talking to himself… or rather, chanting. It was always the same verses. It happened so often that even she knew the lines by heart. 

 

__ Blessed are they who stand before  
_ The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.  
_ __ Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.

_ Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.  
_ _ In their blood the Maker's will is written. _

 

Chant of Light: Canticle of Benedictions. Benedictions 4:10 and 4:11. That was what Varric told her when she repeated the verses to him. “I never pegged you for the holy sort, Quiz,” he had said to her with a curious glint in his eyes. According to Varric, this was only a small part of the Chant of Light. For one to recite the entire chant, it would take weeks. The first time Nora had stepped foot in a Chantry was in Haven. After all, Dalish believed in  _ Evanuris _ \- the elven pantheon comprising of five gods and four goddesses- or as they called them, ‘The Creators’. But, who’s to say the Maker did not exist? 

Nora was glad she had decided against having a  _ Vallaslin _ , because it would have been quite awkward kneeling in front of the Maker with a tattoo of an elven god marking her face. It was strange enough she had visited Skyhold’s poor excuse for a Chantry in the first place; the tiny room was only big enough to fit a couple of faithfuls. As she peered up at the stone deity carved in His image, Nora found herself wondering if the prayers of a Dalish would be heard at all by Him. 

_ But, Cullen believes.  _ If the Maker would not hear his prayers, and what they said was true, that she was really Andraste’s Chosen, then perhaps He would answer her plea. Nora put her hands together, bowed her head low, and prayed in silence. She prayed for the nightmares to vanish, she prayed for his pain to go away, she prayed for an end to his suffering. She prayed with all her might, for it was not only in the dark of nights that his condition worsened; the symptoms had crept into his days as well.

She whispered a quick “Thank You”, and slipped out into Skyhold’s garden. Evening light bathed the uneven grass with stretched out shadows of the pillars surrounding the fortress garden. There, standing right outside the Chantry’s door as if she had been waiting for her all along was Lady Morrigan. 

“Tis’ odd to see one such as yourself hold much faith in popular human religion.” Lady Morrigan’s eyes gleamed like the burning embers of a fire. Her burgundy lips tilted sideways in an incisive manner, that though had meant to gesture a smile, only made Nora uneasy. “Inquisitor, I believe we have not had the chance- or time, in your case- to acquaint ourselves better with one another. The last time we spoke was at The Winter Palace, am I right?” she paused for a second, then added,“Tis’ understandable, you are a busy woman.”

She was a beautiful woman; tall and slender, with a full chest she wore with pride, and jet black hair cropped at the nape of her neck. But, there was something about her- maybe it was in the crafty way she spoke, or those wild yellow eyes- that bore resemblance to an untamed beast. 

“Lady Morrigan,” Nora nodded in greeting, and hoped Morrigan did not catch the faint reluctance in her tone. “Skyhold is treating you well, I hope. Please, forgive me. I had not even the chance to catch my breath since returning from Orlais. Have you any word from Empress Celene?”

“Come, walk with me.” Her bright citrine eyes glinted as she motioned for Nora to join her in the garden. It was not so much a garden as it was a grassy clearing hidden behind towering fortress walls. The sun was almost setting, and most of the garden had already been vacated by its patrons in favour of dinner, which left Nora and Morrigan in the privacy of potted herbs and winter shrubs. “The Empress sends her gratitude for your service to the crown. But, I expect no other word from her. My time at court has come to an end. I did not think I could have stayed longer anyway.”

“I understand you were her occult advisor.”

“Tis’ so. My role lies in providing her with insights on matters of the arcane. Celene harbours an avid interest in the unknown, more so in darker sorts of magic.”

“And how did you come to acquire such knowledge?”

“I have lived long enough to experience such.”

“So, you are an apostate?” Nora should have guessed. Morrigan did not look one bit like a Circle mage, nor did Circle mages frequently dabble in dark magic. Also, her promiscuous drabs revealed far too much skin than would be comfortable for a mage in prudent Circle robes.

Morrigan frowned, “We are both mages born free of confined magic, are we not? Dalish, apostate, I see no difference. That mark on your hand, for example. Is it not arguable that they let you walk around with unfathomable power at your fingertips, while labeling all free mages apostates.”

“Yes, but I have no want for such power, only to be rid of it,” Nora confessed as they neared a stone gazebo tucked away in a corner.  

Her remark turned Morrigan curious. “And what warrants such a wish?”

“It is not me being selfless, I can assure you,” Nora said. “More so to do with a desire of choice.”

“I would imagine being the Inquisitor grants you authority in making heavy decisions.”

“Not those type of choices, I have plenty of those.”

“Ah, I see...” Morrigan finally understood. “Tis’ odd, this world… where the ones who crave power and glory may fight their whole lives but never have it, and the ones who have it have no regard for it.”

The gazebo was small, as was all things in Skyhold’s garden; small plants, small benches, small pathway, and a small ancient well in the middle. Vines of Arbour Blessings, white buds blooming full, curled along the fortress walls that curtained from behind. A chess table stood in the middle with its black and white chess pieces arranged in an orderly fashion on both respective sides, inviting players for a challenge. 

“Do you play, Inquisitor?” Morrigan asked. 

“I don’t care much for the game. You might have better luck with the commander. People tell me he’s got a knack for it.” She never could grasp the entertainment one might enjoy in a game that commanded sly maneuvers and subtle strategies. 

“Ah, yes… Commander Cullen,” a slow smile spread across Morrigan’s lips, like she held a dirty secret. “One cannot help but hear the whispers in the walls. They tell such curious tales.”

“Could be a load of wyvern shit.”

“I would believe it to be so, if it were not true. You know, he might not remember this, but we have met before, the commander and I… Once. A long time ago. Tis’ interesting to see a resurrection of the past. I would say you owe the Hero of Ferelden much gratitude for the Inquisition having such a fine commander.”

Nora stared at her wide-eyed, and slowly, her mind started to put two and two together. “You... freed Cullen at Kinloch Hold?” she whispered.

“T’was not me, but the Hero who took pity on his poor soul and broke his bind.”

Everybody who lived past the Fifth Blight knew the story of the Hero of Ferelden; of how she was the only grey warden to survive after slaying an archdemon. They also knew she had not done it alone. There was Alistair Theirin, the grey warden turned King of Ferelden and lover of the Hero. Another of the Hero’s companions was the Inquisition’s very own spymaster, Leliana. There were also a few others who fought alongside the Hero; one rumoured to be an elven mercenary, another a Circle mage, and that there was also a Witch of the Wild. They had already established Morrigan was no Circle mage.  _ Leliana never said anything about Morrigan,  _ but then, Nora realized that she hardly knew anything at all about Leliana. The spymaster only ever said what was needed to be heard. 

“What was he like- I mean, how bad was it?” Nora asked, and regretted for sounding too eager. 

“So the walls do not lie.” The smirk on Morrigan’s alabaster face was unsettling. “But, like I said, such a poor thing when we found him… trapped by a desire demon, standing on the edge of madness. It was a miracle he was even alive at all after being held captive for that long a time, but he was. I wanted to leave him be- he was screaming too much. Something or another about death to all mages. It was rather annoying. But, the Hero, she freed him in the end.”

“He is not what he was before. The Inquisition wouldn’t have been what it is now without him,” Nora said, feeling her blood rise a little at the thought of Morrigan leaving Cullen to die. But, it was not her fault.  _ Cullen is not weak, he is just… troubled _ . He would get through this, and after everything, they would build a life together far from the Inquisition. But, Morrigan need not know that. She did not know him like Nora did.

Nora wondered what she would have done then if it was her who had found him at Kinloch Hold. She was certainly not as strong or as able as she was now, and would probably have been too scared to approach a templar, let alone free one. But, best not to ponder on such things, they were together now, and that was all that mattered. She decided to change the subject. “What was it that you wanted to see me for again?”

Morrigan looked at her, cryptic and unblinking, that feral smile cut a little wider on her lips. “Why, nothing at all. Besides, I think I’ve acquired what I wanted to know.” She did not offer any more explanation, and Nora was not sure she wanted to know anyway.  “Tis’ growing dark. I shall not keep you from a warm meal,” she said, and proceeded to take her leave, but not before gifting Nora with a parting word. “Oh, and Inquisitor…”

“Yes?”

“Mostly we pray not for ourselves, but for others. I do hope your prayers come to be heard, Inquisitor.”

It was only when Nora was alone once again did she finally realize she had foolishly let herself be lured into Morrigan’s trap. She stood stationary for a little while staring at nothing in particular before pulling out a rickety wooden stool from under the chess table and setting herself down. Her gaze lingered on the white chess pieces- the king, the queen, the knight, the castle, and all the little soldiers- and slowly moved on to the opposite side where the black pieces stood in a neat row. From her end, it looked like the black were just waiting… waiting for her to make a move so they could strike back. Her stomach gave a deep churn, but she was not hungry. She had other things on her mind besides food.  _ Corypheus may be quiet for now, _ she thought to herself,  _ but that does not mean he was absent of a plan. And Thedas puts its faith in an elven girl… Me.  _

She stared at her docile palm, and a faint green light pulsed once… just once, as if to remind her it was still very much alive. She twirled her fingers and green light swirled up like trails of smoke, weightless and opaque, forming into a tiny whirlwind in her palm. Alone in the impending twilight, she watched the jade wisps dance about in harmony, weaving across one another, never colliding. 

_ But I’m just that, an elven girl. What if I fail? _

Her fingers closed in, and all at once, the green light disappeared seeping back into her palm. Nora stood up, shaking her head. She should not be thinking these sort of things; for if she failed, it would mean she was dead. 

Nora thought about what Morrigan had said, about all that power she did not want. Then, she thought about the irony of it all. Humans would kill for such power she possessed in her one hand, and to this day, she could not wield a sword any better than the stableboy. Her staff, however, was another matter. For as long as she knew, humans scorned her race, yet they see her as their liberator, their Herald. No, it was more than irony, it was prejudice. But, that was always the way of the world, and would always be. Everyone had to belong somewhere. Her people were no different. The Dalish refused to conform to the modern world, stubbornly going about their ‘old’ ways; practices long lost to the world that bore no more significance than an extinct ideal. Then, they blame everyone for it. As for Nora, she did not know if perhaps she was the biggest fool of all to shun history, to not want to choose a side. Maybe it was just blind ignorance. Perhaps this was why she never really felt like she belonged anywhere.

She became desperate for a drink, and knew that Cullen would be disappointed if he were to catch a whiff of ale in her breath. But, she went anyway. She was suppose to be checking in on him, since it was at her insistence that he stay in to rest for the day. He had not heeded her advice at first of course, and despite his waning energy had insisted on heading the recruits’ training down on the ice today. It was only when Rylen expressed concern over his commander’s paling complexion did Cullen finally concede to retire to his tower to spend the rest of the day pouring his head over reports. He had been quiet after that, and all her fussing about and insistence on bringing him hot tea by the hour only made him feel all the more useless. Finally, he had assured her rather firmly that he was fine, and that she should leave him be until after dinner. 

_ One drink will not make a difference _ , she told herself as she stepped into The Herald’s Rest. The place was a merry raucous as always. Drinks were being knocked back at every turn, and boisterous laughter drifted from all corners amidst the sweet croonings of Maryden the bard as she put folklore into song. Nora liked the tavern, it always gave her the impression of a whole new world upon entering, one far from the looming threats that bordered over Thedas’ fate. 

As she suspected, Dorian and Varric were already seated at their usual spot like clockwork. They waved over at her from their corner and Nora grinned back. This was the time she looked forward to most at the end of another long day. Most of her days were spent playing pretend when it came to entertaining the nobles, and she would tire herself out from the straining her cheeks for hours on end as they boasted and bragged about this and that, and all the other important people they knew so ‘well’. She would imagine they did the same to others about her. 

When she was not busy forcing laughter with the visiting nobles and emissaries, she would be preoccupied with watching over Cullen in the evenings, but during those times too, it was no carnival. He was broodier than usual as of late, and no matter how many times she tried to persuade him to open up, he merely told her he wished not to burden her any further. She would become frustrated, and they would end up fighting. Then, off to the tavern she would go to drink until frost fogged the twilight before staggering back to a displeased Cullen. Sleep did not come easy too, for she would refuse to shut her eyes in case he needed her, right up until her heavy lids gave way, plunging her into unconscious darkness.

Dorian gasped the moment he saw her up close. “Oh my, the state of you! Why, you could tell me you were the Fade itself and I would believe you.”

“He’s right, Quiz,” Varric said. “What happened to you?”

Dorian raised a teasing brow, “Trouble in paradise?”

She rolled her eyes at them and set her tankard of ale on the table, “Why do the both of you always assume it’s about Cullen every time?”

“When you look the way you do now, my dear, it is most definitely, always about our sweet commander.”

“He’s got a point, Quiz.”

“He can’t have kept you up all week under the sheets-” Dorian pulled a mocking sulk, “- and I would be jealous if he did.”

“Hardly,” she scoffed, and downed half the ale without a second thought. She clenched her teeth and made a face while the burn settled in her stomach. The batch was stronger this time round, and the nasty-undertone meant that bartender Cabot had decided to clear the stale stock this time round. But, a drink was still a drink, so she emptied her tankard and thumped it back down on the scratched up wooden table. “He’s in one of his moods again. It’s the poor recruits I pity most, they have it the worst. These days, they’ve been making a habit of getting me to deliver the reports to him. Even Rylen’s afraid he might get his head bitten off. Everyone seems to have temporarily forgotten that I’m the Inquisitor, and not the messenger. And just because I’m in a relationship with the commander, doesn’t mean I don’t get it from him too... ”

“Curly been giving you a hard time too then?” Varric asked. 

Nora was too quick to shake her head. “No!- No,” she denied, her voice rising up at octave. She cleared her throat with haste and gave a nervous laugh, “Do I look that bad?

“Honestly, you look shit,” Varric pointed out.

He was right. Nora had not noticed before until then as she caught the reflection of a woman she no longer recognized staring back at her in the window. Her hair was a right mess, all tangled and dishevelled, and her once full cheeks were now hollowed out, deflated. She realised she had not even bothered to change out of the robes she had been wearing all week. She probably stunk of dirt and sweat. ”No… There’s nothing wrong with me and Cullen. Cullen’s fine, just fine. There’s nothing wrong with us.. Why- why would you think that?”

“Nora, is everything alright?” Dorian asked in a sudden gentle tone that was unmistakable for concern.

Nora looked at the worried faces of her two friends. She should not have complained. They were no longer smiling; there were no twinkling eyes, no witty remarks, no teasing laughter. Her grip tightened on the empty tankard she clutched with both hands, wishing she had the power to magic it full with ale again so she could down it again and not have to to provide an answer. She wanted to tell them. She wanted to pour out her fears and tell them everything- about Cullen, about his condition… her fear of losing him. She wanted to, so terribly. 

“A rough day, is all,” she found herself forcing a smile yet again, lying yet again. “Training today was brutal.”

They did not seem to believe her but were smart enough to drop the subject all the same, which was a relief. “Next round’s on me, you look like you need it,” Dorian announced. “Hardly been back in Skyhold long enough to even enjoy the warmth of my bed, and now we have to deploy ourselves to the biting cold of Emprise Du Lion in a week’s time.”

“Ah, it won’t be so bad,” said Varric as the barmaid set down three more tankards before them. “Might be interesting this time round, seeing as we have new company-”

Dorian made a face at him, then turned to Nora with a sheepish grin. “Did I mention Bull’s not coming along? Got a tip about a dragon roaming about somewhere in the Frostbacks. I swear, he literally dashed out of the gates like an excited pup. Not even a goodbye to me, the nerve! This is how he treats me after I let him do that weird Qunari trick to me in… nevermind. My point is, I doubt he’ll be back any time soon.”

“Well, we will need a warrior. I suppose Cassandra will take his place,” she said.

Dorian and Varric glanced at each other in an uncertain manner. “You really haven’t heard, have you?” 

“What? Have I missed something?”

“Sweet Maker, you really have been living in the deep roads!” Dorian tutted. “Cassandra’s not coming.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t know, but we know who’s taking her place.”

“Who?”

“Well, you’re not going to like it,” Dorian said. “But I’ll give you a clue- blonde hair... boyishly handsome… never smiles...”

“Impossible. Can’t be Cullen,” she waved her hand dismissively. “We’ve already decided during the last war council meeting. He has to stay here at Skyhold with some new templars, and with his condition-” she stopped abruptly. The drink was quick to get to her head, and Nora knew for a fact that drinks had a knack for loosening up her tongue. “- his condition... that- I- meant- he is going to be busy, yes, very busy, what with the new templars in Skyhold and all that...”

“It’s not Cullen.”

She picked up her tankard to take another swig. “Oh? Who then?”

“You know Nora,” Dorian said. “Contrary to what you may think inside that pretty head of yours, Cullen is not the only shiny thing in Skyhold… well, Cullen and myself, of course.”

“Oh, would you just tell me who it is already!”

A long pause.

“... Alras,” Varric finally said.

She spat out her drink. “WHAT?”

Dorian flashed her a weak smile, “Err… surprise!”

She stared at them in morbid disbelief, “If this is your idea of a joke, well, let me tell you, it’s not very funny.”

“Love, if it were, we’d already have put a bet on it.”

Her mouth hung open. 

A barmaid stopped by their table and smiled pleasantly. “Another round, ser?” 

“I’ll buy,” Varric said.

Nora sat in a stupor. The only explanation she could think of for Cassandra assigning a non-Inquisition member was blackmail. That no good Alras must have schemed up some kind of plot, and if it were so, she must wonder what motivated him to accept in the first place. As far as she knew, the warleader despised anything that was not categorised as Dalish; and the Inquisition was a  _ shem _ order, therefore their upcoming dispatch to Emprise Du Lion was by definition counted as  _ shem  _ business.

“And… he actually agreed?” she asked.

Maybe someone had hit him really hard in the head and altered his brain. She doubted it, but if someone had, she hoped it would also cure him of his nastiness. 

The barmaid returned and set three more full tankards down on the table. Varric dropped some coin into her hand and thanked her. “Well, I’ll be damned if he tries to pull some weird Dalish voodoo on me.”

“My guess is he’s only going because of our dear Inquisitor here,” said Dorian. “Come to think of it Nora, you always seem to attract the cold ones.”

“Great, just great. Now we all get a front seat to listen to him blaspheme humans for Maker knows how long we will be in Emprise Du Lion…” The ale had suddenly lost its stale taste. Dorian and Varric watched her gulp down her tankard in one go, half in amusement and the other half with concern.

“So long as he doesn’t start trying to kill the help,” Varric said. “Death to the  _ shem _ !...” he imitated, waving his hands about in the air.

“It must be a mistake,” Nora said, swaying abruptly from her seat. “I’m going to see Cassandra.”

“Not the best idea right now seeing as you can’t stand up all that-” Dorian lifted a finger in protest, but Nora was already staggering her way out of the tavern.

 

* * *

 

 

Cassandra Pentaghast was still in the war room when Nora barged in unannounced. Nora knew she would find her there, and said exactly that upon flinging the heavy doors open. Her hands were stretched out on the war table, intensely studying operations, moving about assignments here and there. Nora did not understand how she could voluntarily spend an entire day stuck working in that stuffy room without missing the slivers of sunshine in the cold mornings, or the frosty breeze of the night air billowing against her skin. Much like the commander, the Seeker knew not of the concept of rest. 

She glanced up at Nora without smiling, “I know why you are here. Now is not a good time for debate.”

“You didn’t even think to consult me on the matter?”

“Why would I when I know for a fact that you are only going to reject it.”

“Because I’m the Inquisitor.”

“You are,” she said in a hardened sort of way. “And as the Inquisitor, you will accept any able body assigned to your party without regard to your personal affairs-- which apparently is a thing you seem to truly excel at.”

Drink, no matter how stale, when drunk over one’s limitations, would still have an effect on one's state of sobriety. This was mistake Nora had to stop making, especially when she was conscious of the fact but chose denial each time instead. 

She stumbled over to where Cassandra stood and leaned a hip on edge of the war table. “I assumed you would have volunteered yourself for this mission.”

“Given other circumstances, I would. But, I am needed here in Skyhold to monitor the forces.”

“Alars is Dalish. He would never have simply accepted a  _ shem  _ mission. He despises the Inquisition and all it stands for.”

“On the contrary, he offered.”

_ Unbelievable _ , she thought. Nora had known the Alras long enough to know that he would rather cut out his tongue before offering his services to help the  _ shem. _ And Cassandra-- she was the last person besides Cullen who would be likely to hand over a mission to a stranger. 

“Your work in Skyhold must be important then, because as far as I know, you would not have let someone out of the Inner Circle join a mission like this.”

A visible twitch had started to appear on Cassandra’s forehead. “Inquisitor, if everyone were to prance about Skyhold with a bottle in hand like you do, nothing would ever get done.”

“You don’t know what I’ve been up to,” Nora replied, her tone turning harsh. “Maybe you should stop to consider that there may be other more important matters to me right now besides the Inquisition.”

“Be that as it may, we cannot afford for you to have such a luxury. You of all people, Inquisitor, should know this.”

Nora snatched a fistful of papers from the wartable and shoved it in front of Cassandra’s face. “Is this what it is all about then? My life dictated by these… these operations… these duties I’m suppose to sacrifice everything I hold dear for? Well, I’m sorry Andraste or whatever deity up there chose to bestow someone as selfish as myself with this wretched mark. I’m sorry that you are stuck with a Herald who is only doing this stupid saving the world crap because she- I- want a life after that bloody demon Corypheus is dead-” she flung the papers on the floor, grabbed Cassandra’s hand and smacked her own anchored hand into her grasp- “If you think you can do a better job, then take it. I don’t want it! And I’d gladly cut off my arm to give it to someone who does.”

If her sudden outburst had triggered any kind of shock in Cassandra, the impassiveness of her expression showed no clue of it. A thought- odd and irrelevant-  fleeted through Nora’s mind at that very moment; that if Cassandra was not a Seeker already, she would have made an excellent profession out of mummery- more specifically, as a slab of stone. 

“I am fully aware of the commander’s situation.” Cassandra had abandoned the war table assignments to fix Nora with the sort of look that told her she was not lying. 

Cullen had told her. 

Nora felt her feet lose a little of its balance, and cursed the rapid effects of the ale. “When?”

“Does it matter?” 

“And he knows? about Alras?”

“We both agreed it would be best.”

But something was not right with what Cassandra had just said. If Nora had been a tad bit more sober, if she had not just came from downing three tankards of ale in less than an hour, she would have noticed it sooner. Their conversation played back in her head. Why would Cullen just agree? It was not like him to do so. He would not have just agreed with Cassandra’s idea of having Alras go instead of him. He would have put up a fight… or at least made some kind of protest. And he would have certainly said something to Nora about it…. It just did not make sense.  _ Something to do with what she said earlier… something in passing… an explanation… _

And then it clicked.  _ Forces _ .  _ She said she was monitoring the forces. _

“Cassandra… why are you watching the forces?... Where’s Cullen?”

It was then that the Seeker- who normally had a gaze as steady as her mind for duty- quickly diverted her eyes away from Nora to the floor. Her face had contorted into something rigid.

“Cassandra,” Nora said again, slower this time, alarm rising in her head. “Where is Cullen?”

A silence befell them like the coming of death itself.

After what seemed like an eternity, Cassandra finally spoke. “I... am trying to locate him as we speak... He can’t have gone far. Leliana already has her scouts looking out for any signs of-”

Nora rushed out of the war room. She ran, as fast as her legs could carry her, down the throne room, shoving her way through of people, knocking someone aside.  _ Faster _ ... she told herself,  _ faster _ ... Her breaths were heavy, quick… that sinking feeling in her chest, plummeting heavy in her stomach, weighing her down like a mortar ball. Still, she ran - out of the throne room, pass Solas’s rotunda, giving no thought to the cold of the night as she leaped up the steps of his tower. 

“No-no-no-no…” He would not have just left without telling her. He loved her. She would not believe it. 

_ He told me he loves me... _

But even before she threw his door open, she already knew, deep down, what she would find. The empty office stared back at her, hard and cold. On his desk, reports were neatly stacked in its usual spot. On his shelf, not a single tome was out of place. It was as if everything was as it should be; just another ordinary day, nothing unusual. All except the barren corner where his armour usually sat. 

Her eyes snapped back to his desk, where a small piece of rolled up parchment lay right in the middle, as if it had been deliberately left that way. Slowly, dreadfully, she walked toward it, and with trembling hands, picked it up. It was short, simple, but it carried with it a pain that consumed her whole. 

And all at once she felt her heart break. 

She sank, knees collapsing on the floor, still clutching the letter in her shaking hands. Hot tears streaked her cheeks like burning rods, her insides breaking, piece by piece. All the while, three simple words echoed in the hollow space that surrounded her frozen body…

 

_ Forgive me Nora  _


End file.
